


Read the Greek Upon the Stars

by knittycat99



Category: Glee
Genre: American Football, Bullying, Child Abandonment, Coming Out, Flashbacks, Gen, Hate Crimes, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Nightmares, Out With A Bang Big Bang, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Step-siblings, Suicidal Thoughts, Theatre, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave isn’t from Lima until he is.  He isn’t closeted until he has no choice, and he certainly isn’t a bully until being closeted turns him into someone he hates.  In the aftermath of an unimaginable decision, Dave runs from his past, locks it away, struggles every day to understand the boy he was, the boy he became, the man he wants to be.  When a chance encounter leads to an opportunity for reconciliation, Dave is forced to finally face the repercussions of his actions, not just for the victims but also for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt like there was a lot more to Dave Karofsky than what we saw on our tv screens, and I'm so happy to have been able to explore that in this fic. 
> 
> Thanks to patchfire, raving_liberal, and gleennui for cheerleading; I haven't finished a writing project since the 2013 Puckurt Big Bang, so their support has meant a lot.
> 
> The most excellent cover art was created by monkeybutton, and raving_liberal made me some cool dividers.
> 
> raving_liberal *also* made me my first ever fanmix, which can be found here: http://raving-liberal.livejournal.com/1012488.html. It's perfect, and I listened to it every time I sat down to write.
> 
> Please heed the tags. This is not an easy fic

**[ ](http://imgur.com/x9pglXR) **

**F** **all 2014**

Dave shifted in his chair and tapped the notecards in front of him.  He didn’t need them anymore; he’d done this talk so many times, but he liked the security of them.

He watched students file into the lecture hall, wondering if he’d see anyone he knew.  He tapped his foot on the floor, made small talk with the girl sitting next to him, someone he’d done a speaker’s bureau talk with the week before at one of the suburban high schools north of the city.  He was caught off guard by a familiar smell, the faint trail of someone’s spicy-sweet cologne.  The cologne that had meant too many things to Dave years ago, when he thought he'd known who he was and where he was going.  The cologne that told him the boy he'd loved like a brother and lost through his ignorance was near.

The cologne that had plagued him, every goddamn day of two years in that hellhole of a school.

The cologne, something else, some kind of lotion or soap or hair product.  The whole combination screamed Kurt Hummel.

Dave’s stomach flipped over.  He shifted in his chair, peering around the press of bodies moving into the room, trying to see who had been wearing that cologne, that unlikely scent.  All he could see was the slender back of a young man, oversized backpack hanging off one shoulder over a black pea coat, dark-wash jeans and thick-soled shoes.  A peek of purple and grey, undulating woven texture around his neck.

Dave watched while he unwrapped himself and settled into a chair near the back of the room, pulling a slim laptop out of his backpack and settling a pair of thick-framed glasses on his face. Dave’s brain raced.  It was impossible, after all this time, that _he_ would be _here._  Kurt Hummel was meant for New York, for high fashion or the Broadway stage, not for a crowded Intro to Psych class in Boston.

It wasn’t Kurt.  It couldn’t be Kurt.

But then the man closed the lid on his laptop and Dave’s heart stuttered a beat.

He caught Kurt’s eye, watched Kurt’s face go pale and his eyes go hard.  Dave didn’t blame him, there had been no chance for explanation or redemption between them, just the two of them in a glaring spotlight, hurting and hating, Kurt lashing out and Dave shocked into deafening silence.  The whole time of it, those two terrible years, he'd hated himself more than he ever hated Kurt.  He hadn’t been able to explain, then, but he could now.  Kurt shifted, hefted his backpack like he was going to run, but Dave shook his head.   _Wait_ , he mouthed.   _Please_.   _Stay_.

Kurt’s eyes flicked from Dave to the door, to the professor striding in and setting her own notes on the podium.  He sagged in his seat, defeated.   _Stay_ , Dave mouthed again.   _Let me explain_.

Kurt nodded once, and when he turned his face away toward the aisle, familiar everything-is-perfect Kurt Hummel mask in place, Dave could have sworn he saw tears creeping down Kurt’s cheeks.

When the lecture was done, students crowded the table.  Most of them were angling to talk with Lena, the trans girl that was one of the speaker’s bureau’s most popular panelists.  But then Kurt stepped carefully up to Dave, hands twisting the fringe on his scarf.

“That was a pretty good explanation, but really?  You just disappeared, Dave.  You left.”  He flicked his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, soft and sad.  “You left me.  Left all of us, when we needed you.  I can’t just forgive you for that.”

“You’re right.  How about I buy you a coffee?”

Something dark crossed Kurt’s face, a mix of pain and sadness.  “You owe me - you owe all of us - more than just coffee.”  He closed his eyes and shook his head.  His lips moved like he was talking to himself, and when he opened his eyes he pushed words out of his mouth.  “Fine.”

There was a cold distance behind Kurt’s words and his demeanor as they exchanged numbers and set a date for the next afternoon at an off-campus coffee shop.  Kurt smiled at him when they said their goodbyes, but it was a twisted smile and Dave saw the pain in it.

He wanted to stop Kurt, to beg forgiveness.  To say the things he'd finally come to accept: I’m so sorry, I didn’t do enough; I should have stayed but I was scared too; I’m not like that anymore.

But he was pretty sure the only thing Kurt wanted to hear was the one thing that hurt Dave more than anything to admit: I was never like that in the first place.

[ ](http://imgur.com/mYjHJ4G)

Kurt should have just pretended that he hadn’t seen him at all.  He was thankful, at least, that he’d spotted Dave from behind, his unchanged haircut and the way his shoulders sloped as familiar to Kurt as Finn’s were; he supposed, in the end, that he and Dave had been brothers of a sort, in their own way.

Except for all his imperfectness, Finn had never even thought of betraying Kurt as badly as Dave had.  So he pushed through the crowd, through his own trembling sweaty fear, into the classroom and up the stairs to his seat.  He held himself stiff and careful behind a shield almost forgotten after almost two years gone from those halls, divested himself of coat and scarf, and settled in for lecture.

The shock that crossed his face when Dave caught his eye wasn’t feigned.  He had genuinely hoped that he’d blend into the other 200 bodies in the room, just another invisible boy in jeans and a henley.  Kurt was EveryBoy now, nothing distinct or special in his manners or speech, nothing to set him apart or call attention or make him unique or different.

Being different courted a million kinds of disaster, and Kurt couldn’t afford to give up anything else.

He listened to Dave’s part of the presentation with his heart in his throat.  He’d known, of course, the bare pieces of Dave’s story.  He’d lived the worst chunk of it, after all, inside those walls that had felt like a prison.  But the anger and the hurt and the abandonment welled up inside him, and his hands were shaking when he made his way to the table afterwards to talk to him.

It was supposed to be better, everyone had told him, once he made peace with things.

He’d worked at it so long, but he didn’t suspect he was ever going to find peace, not unless he gave in.  So he made the date for stupid coffee, ran into the men's room, and was sick to his stomach.  

He refused to go to dinner when Regina came over from next door to get him, so she brought him a handful of the saltine packets from the soup bar and some bread so he could make toast in his contraband toaster oven.  "I was going to bring you ginger ale," she said, setting the crackers on the edge of his desk, "but I ran out of hands."

"It's fine," he said from his cocoon of blankets.  "Thank you."

"You sure you're okay?  You look like shit."

"I'll really be okay," he promised, even though he never believed it himself anymore.

Regina let herself out and Kurt stayed there, still, watching the shadows grow and then disappear on his walls.

He didn't sleep.

No, that wasn't quite right.  He did sleep, restlessly, and woke up more times than he could count.  Each time, he was disoriented, not understanding how a firm bed and warm blankets smelled like blood mixed with grass and dirt, how the normally yellow light from the hall outside had become flashes of blue and red, how the silence around him was shattered by Dave Karofsky's voice yelling over and over _I told them to stop, why wouldn't they stop?_


	2. Before

**_Scouts Lend a Hand_ **

**_Isaac Martin, Boston Globe_ **

_On Saturday, members of Boy Scout Troop 4976 assisted elderly residents in South Boston with yard cleanup in the aftermath of Hurricane Mabel.  David Karofsky, 12, organized the effort after his neighbor asked for help bundling branches and other debris.  “A lot of the people in this part of town can’t do heavy work like this, and they might not have anyone else to help.  So we’re here, doing what we can.”  Karofsky, who plays for Greater Boston Youth Hockey and is an altar server at St. Agnes Polish Catholic Church, will attend Boston Latin School in September._

**Fall, 2006**

Dave was a Southie boy, except he wasn’t.  He had the Irish cousins to prove it, populating South Boston Catholic Academy from Pre-K through the 6th grade, but he had to go to Polish school and he served Mass at the wrong church.  When he asked, his dad told him it was because his mom wouldn’t leave Southie after they got married and there wasn’t anything for him back home in Ohio.  But Dave couldn’t understand that; most days, Southie felt like a dead end to him, and by the time he was in sixth grade he knew he was going to have to leave, otherwise he’d be stuck for the rest of his life.  Leaving the neighborhood for seventh grade, instead of staying at Perry K-8 was going to be the beginning, the first in a list of things that was going to keep him from falling into what he thought of as The Southie Trap: go to school, graduate, maybe go to college but probably get a job, marry a girl from the neighborhood and raise another generation of Southie kids.  

Dave didn't want any of it, and going to Latin was supposed to give him _the opportunity to do more, Davey_.

The only problem was, he was terrified.

Dave’s mother drove him, the first day, even though he had his T pass and his new school ID clipped to the lanyard in his pocket.  The street in front of the school was teeming with kids, some who looked as tentative and scared as Dave felt, but most who looked happy and excited.  He pushed the car door closed, gave his mom a little wave, and hitched his backpack up higher on his shoulders.

He was ready.

The only person he knew in his classes was Maddie Gagnon, who lived up the street and who was a cousin of a non-biological sort, Maddie’s mom married to Dave’s mother’s cousin, their blended family complete with John's son Dylan, who had been on Dave's hockey team the previous winter.  His mother always talked about what a nice girl Maddie was, and Dave supposed it was true. In science class, she shyly took the seat next to him.

“Hi, Maddie.”

“Hi, David.”  She smiled at him, but she looked nervous.

Dave tapped his finger on the cover of his Latin book.  “Do you want to come over after dinner tonight, we could study together?”

Maddie blinked behind her glasses, and Dave pretended that he didn’t see her fighting not to cry.  “Thank you!” she whispered, glancing around the room at the other kids.  “I feel so behind already.”

“Yeah.”  Dave nodded.  “Do you have a ride, or are you taking the T home?”

“Mom works second shift and Dylan has hockey, which means John has hockey, too.”  She stared at the desk.  “So.  The T.”

“We should ride together.”  He wasn’t sure where the idea came from, but it felt like the right thing to do.  “I don’t think there are any other Southie kids in our year.”

“Nope.  Just us.”  She flashed a silvery-braces smile at Dave, and turned her attention to the textbooks their science teacher was passing out.  “Sit with me at lunch?”

“Of course.”

By lunchtime, Dave was exhausted.  He propped his head on one hand and ate his bologna sandwich and apple one-handed.  “Are they trying to kill us?” he asked Maddie between crunches.

Maddie pulled the crusts off her tuna salad and left them in a sad little pile on top of the plastic baggie.  “I still think it’s better being here, with all this homework, than going to Perry.  Or Ursuline Academy, if John had gotten his way."  She frowned.  "It really sucks, wearing a uniform.”

“Yeah.”  He didn’t want to talk about why he had been afraid to stay at Perry.  He didn’t even want to really think about it, about any of the things that made him scared and uncomfortable.  He finished the rest of his lunch in silence, and when the bell rang he followed Maddie back to Geography.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“I can’t ride home with you today,” Maddie said, running to meet him at the corner of Dorchester Ave on an early October morning.  “I’m trying out for the fall play.”

“Oh.”  Dave shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.  “I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Yeah.  Before Dylan got so into hockey, I used to take theater classes, now there’s nobody to drive me and Mom says it’s not safe for me to take the T back alone at night.  And Saturdays are Dylan’s hockey.”  She went silent for a moment.  “I just want something that’s mine, you know?”

“Yeah.”  Dave nodded.

“What about you?  Are you going to try out for the hockey team?”

“Nah.  It takes too much time,” he said, even though that wasn’t even close to the truth.  Locker rooms were hard for him, now, and besides, all the things he’d loved about Pee Wee Hockey, the togetherness and the fun and being part of a team, it had grown too competitive and serious.  School and life were serious enough; Dave just wanted an activity that would be the fun escape hockey had once been.

“You should come to tryouts.  They’re doing _The Laramie Project_.  It’s really intense.

“I don’t know.  I’m not- I’m not like those theater kids."  Except he had read about _The Laramie Project_ , one day at the library in a book he was pretty sure his mother would have killed him for even taking off the shelf.  He was cautiously interested.  "Tell me more."

Maddie was silent until their train had squealed to a stop and they had pressed inside, gripping the same pole and trying to stay out of the way of the businesspeople and college students heading into downtown.  "There's no _being like a theater kid_.  If you do theater, you're a theater kid."

"But I haven't _done_ theater."

Maddie pushed her glasses up on her nose while they waited at the crosswalk.   "Your mom said you were a great Abraham Lincoln in your social studies play."

Dave lifted his shoulders up and down, trying to ease the ache from his always too-heavy backpack.  "Mrs. Ashworth gave me the part because I was the only one who she could count on to memorize the Gettysburg Address."  

"See?  How hard could this be?  We're not going to be stars, not as Sixies."

“Mr. Levin did say I showed promise when we had to do that poetry interpretation last month.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Tryouts were not what Dave expected.  The auditorium was full of kids, most of them upperclassmen.  Dave and Maddie crowded into a row of seats in the back with three other Sixies, watching the upperclassmen talk and laugh.  Maddie leaned over and whispered to Dave.  “How long will it be before we stop feeling so scared all the time?”

Dave shrugged, and then laughed.  “Who knows, maybe by the time we’re seniors?”

“Okay, everyone,” a man called from the front of the room, hefting a pile of scripts onto the stage.  “Welcome to tryouts for our all-school fall play.”  He cast his gaze around, finally settling on their little group of Sixies.  “I see I have some Sixies in the house.  Welcome.  We don’t bite.  If you don't already know me, I'm Mr. Fitzgerald.  I teach English and I'm advisor to the speech and debate team in addition to the theater program.  This year’s play will be _The Laramie Project_.  Some of you will have speaking parts; some of you will be background players.  But everyone who tries out will be cast.  The fall play is a great way to get your feet wet with the drama program here at Latin.  If you haven’t already signed up, I’ll leave the sheet on the stage. Come on up, grab a script, put your name on the list.  I’m going to get a cup of coffee and we’ll start in 15 minutes.”

Dave’s name was third to last on the sign-up sheet, so he had to wait through all the upperclassmen, the eighth graders, and Maddie.  He almost had the entire scene memorized by then, so when he climbed trembling onto the stage he kept the script rolled up in his hand; he wouldn’t need it.

“David.  Have you done any acting before?”

Dave laughed.  “Um.  Not really?  Not unless you count playing the lead in my fifth grade class play because I was the only one the teachers trusted to memorize all the lines.”

Mr. Fitzgerald laughed himself.  “That’s still acting.  Okay.  Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

Dave tried to begin the scene, but the words got stuck in his throat.  He coughed.  “I’m sorry, can I try again?”

“Of course.  No pressure.  Remember, everyone gets a part.”

But Dave just couldn’t get his voice to work, no matter how hard he tried.  Mr. Fitzgerald came out from behind the table and hoisted himself up onto the stage.  “Come here,” he said, patting the edge of the stage.  “Come sit.  Tell me about this scene.  I’m sure you know it because you’ve been listening to it for three hours.  I don’t care about the words.  Tell me what happens here.”

Dave sat cross-legged, facing him.  “The boy wants to be an actor, but he’s afraid of what his family will think, especially when they find out he’s . . . _gay_.”  The word escaped him in a whisper.  It was just as scary saying it out loud about someone in a play as it was to think it about himself.

“How does Matthew Shepherd’s death change things for him?”

Dave’s mouth was dry.  It took him three tries to get words out.  “He feels like he’s part of a  community, with the other students on campus.  He stops being scared.  He feels like he belongs for the first time.”

He stared down at his hands, felt the tips of his ears blazing red-hot.  Everything was suddenly too big and too close, and he wasn't sure why, but he felt embarrassed.

“Good.  Do you think you’re ready to try again?”

“Can I get a drink of water first, please?”

Mr. Fitzgerald nodded.  “Of course.  There’s a water fountain in the hall. Just come back when you’re ready.”

Dave practically ran to the hall and drank long and hard at the water fountain, letting the water chill his throat.  When he had drunk his fill, he ran a hand under the stream and pressed his palm to the back of his neck.   _You can do this,_ he told himself.   _It’s just a play.  You’re not the character on the page.  This is pretend.  It’s only pretend._ He took three deep breaths and strode back onto the stage.

“I’m ready,” he said.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Rehearsals kept Dave after school late every day except for Thursdays.  He loved riding the T home late with Maddie, when the trains heading out of the city were empty of commuters and students; the quiet made it easy to run lines or practice for their upcoming fall declamation, where they had to present a speech or poem or passage from literature in front of their classmates and teachers.  Dave had come to cherish those moments and was reluctant to give them up.  But when the upperclassmen approached them, saying that the whole cast was going out for pizza after practice their last rehearsal before tech, they couldn’t say no.

“We’re not invisible after all,” Maddie whispered to him as they left the auditorium.

“We’ve never been invisible, Mads, we’re just Sixies.  We’re sort of . . . irrelevant.”

They took up three pushed-together tables at Bertucci’s and the seniors ordered pizza and cheese sticks for everyone, and passed around pitchers of Coke and root beer.  While Dave and Maddie usually clung to the edges of the group, someone had installed them at the middle of the tables and everyone was making an effort to include them in conversation.  When the food finally arrived and people were busy eating instead of talking, someone kicked Dave’s foot under the table.  Dave startled and looked around, only to meet the grinning face and playful eyes of Nathaniel Greer, a Beezie who was rapidly gaining a reputation as the cast jokester.

“You’re coming to my party Saturday night, right?”  Nathaniel peered out at Dave from under the shaggy fall of his sandy hair.

Dave shrugged.  “I dunno.  I didn’t know we were invited.” Dave tipped his head toward Maddie.  “I mean, why would anyone want to be burdened with two Sixies?  We’re like, still kids.  Or whatever.”

“It’s a cast party,” Nathaniel said.  “Everyone’s invited.  Jeez, man, do you have an inferiority complex or what?  Nobody cares about what year you are, except maybe _you_.”

Dave took a bite of his pizza and chewed carefully.  “I’ve only ever been to one school before this,” he said once he’d swallowed.  “There’s so much I still don’t understand.”

Nathaniel snorted.  “Yeah.  Like stupid Latin.”

“I could tutor you, if you want.  I love Latin.”  Dave didn’t know where the offer had come from, but once he said it he was painfully aware of the hot blush creeping up the back of his neck.  “I mean, if you want.”

“I don’t think my friends would let me live it down if I told them I was being tutored by a _Sixie._ ”

“Now who has an inferiority complex?” Dave wasn’t used to feeling this kind of confidence, but Nathaniel made it easy to be a lot less serious than he usually was.

“Yeah.”  Nathaniel sucked hard on his straw.  “Yeah.  I walked right into that one.”

Dave tipped his head and stared at Nathaniel.  “You’re not from here.”  He didn’t need to ask.  Nathaniel’s vowels were too lazy, not broad enough for him to have grown up in New England.

“I’m from all over.  We moved here last winter.  This is my sixth school since kindergarten, so I know what you mean when you say you’re still getting used to things at Latin.”

“It gets better, right?”

Nathaniel shrugged.  “Easier.  I think better is relative.  Like, if you get involved and make friends, it definitely gets better.  Are you enjoying the play?”

“Yeah.  I’ve never been a part of something like this.  I mean, I do Scouts and I used to play hockey, and there’s church stuff, but this is different.  It’s more than just being on a team, you know?”

Nathaniel nodded and gnawed on a piece of pizza crust.  “That’s the thing about theater.  I’ve been doing community stuff since I learned to read, and no matter where we live I can find my people that way.”

“I wish Sixies could do the musical in the spring.  Not like I can sing at all, or dance, really, but it seems like it would be fun.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to come and see me in the musical.  Next year we can do it together.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

The streets of Southie were relatively empty and quiet when they emerged from the train.  Dave listened to the leaves crunch under his feet while they walked.  Maddie’s breath was white in front of her face.

“You can tell me, if you want,” she said, softly, into the dark.

“Tell you what?”

“You spent all of dinner talking with Nathaniel.”

“He needs a Latin tutor.”

Maddie didn’t say anything.

“He _does_.”  Dave hated the defensiveness in his voice.  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” But his stomach flipped over at the lie.

“I don’t care, David.  And I won’t tell anybody.  I just, I see the way you look at boys and I’m not stupid.”

“I can’t, Mads.  I _can’t_.”  The thought of it, of actually saying out loud what he’s been sure of for over a year now, makes him feel sick-scared.

Maddie turned in the glow of a streetlight and stared at him, hands on her hips.  “You’re about as Catholic as I am, David Karofsky, and I don’t care that you’re an altar server.  We both know you’re not going to Hell over this.”

“Over what?  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine.”  Maddie turned on her heel and took off up the street.  “I won’t wait for you in the morning.”

“What do you- _wait!”_ Dave gripped the straps on his backpack to hold it relatively still and chased after her.  “Maddie, wait!”  When he caught up to her in the red neon of the closed sign on Antonio’s Liquors, she was crying.  “Hey.  I’m sorry.”

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t be your friend.”

“It’s not like that,” Dave insisted, fishing a crumpled but clean tissue out of his coat pocket.  “Here.”  He waited while she wiped her tears and blew her nose.  “I’ve never said it before.  And what if I’m wrong?”

Maddie looked at him the way his mother did, sometimes, when he did or said something stupid.  “You’re not wrong,” she insisted, taking his hand and tugging him to the crosswalk.  “You’re the only one who knows _you_.  I’m sorry.  I won’t make you tell me.  But you can, if you ever decide you want to.”

They walked half a block in silence before Dave spoke, feeling slightly shy.  “He’s nice.  And cute.”

He can almost hear Maddie roll her eyes.  “Duh,” she said.  “ _And_ he’s in _high school_!”

It was Dave’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Oh my god, shut _up_.”

“David has a cru-ush, David has a cru-ush,” Maddie sing-songed, letting go of Dave and skipping backwards up the street.

“I hate you,” Dave said, but he didn’t really, and when they got to his house he stopped Maddie before he climbed the stoop and hugged her, hard.  “Thank you,” he said into her ear.

“We’re the family outliers, David, we have to stick together.”

“See you in the morning?”

“Don’t leave without me!”  Maddie waved at him and took off, skipping again, her hair bouncing over her shoulders.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Maddie’s mom picked them up at rehearsal Saturday afternoon and drove them to Nathaniel’s house, on the edge of the city practically in Cambridge.  When they tumbled out of the car she shook her finger at them through the open window.  “No drinking, no sex, and call me if your dad can’t pick you up, David.”

“Oh my god, MOM!” Maddie squeaked.  “I’m walking away now.”

Dave shuffled his feet in the gravel driveway.  “Thanks, Cousin Arlene.”

“Take care of my baby girl, David.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Nathaniel was standing in the open doorway waiting, a grin on his face and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.  "I was afraid you were going to bail," he said, closing the door behind Dave.  There was music playing and kids swarming everywhere.

"So was I," Dave admitted.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah.  Me, too."

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“Spin the bottle!” one of the senior girls declared, setting an empty 7-Up bottle in the middle of the floor.  “PG, otherwise we’ll corrupt the innocents.”

Nathaniel scowled at her.  “Shut up, Kelly.  Did the seniors keep it PG when you were a Sixie?”

“Getting lip from a _Beezie_?  Seriously?”  Kelly tossed the ends of her stick-straight brown hair over her shoulder and fixing Nathaniel with a glare.

“Just spin, Kelly,” someone yelled over the thumping bass line that obscured most of the song lyrics.  Kelly spun the bottle deftly and waiting until it came to a slow stop, pointing at Gavin Harper, the head of the tech crew.  Kelly rose from her spot in the circle and walked over to Gavin, grasped his face in her hands and planted a beyond chaste kiss on his lips with a _mwah_.  Several people in the circle booed her, but she threw up her hands.  “Whadda ya want? Gavin’s like my _brother_ and that would just be weird,” she said.  Gavin just turned red, tucked his head down, and spun the bottle.

It went like that, round and round the circle, for what felt to Dave like an eternity.  Every time the bottle came close to pointing at him but squeaked past or stopped before him, he held his breath and then let it out in relief.

Until Nathaniel got kissed by Ruby Hayes and then glanced at Dave, his eyes glinting.  He spun the bottle hard, and Dave closed his eyes.   _No no no,_ he thought.   _Please don’t land on me._

It didn’t.  It landed three people away, on Brad Jansen, the senior lead.   _Everyone_ had a crush on Brad.  Dave unclenched his hands and watched Nathaniel shrug at him before he crossed the circle to Brad.  Brad lifted a hand to the back of Nathaniel’s head and pulled him close, kissed him softly.  Dave blushed to the roots of his hair and had to look away, because he thought he was going to die of embarrassment.

“I can’t keep playing,” he whispered to Maddie, pushing himself up off the floor and heading to the kitchen.  Once there he filled a red plastic cup with ice and held it to his burning cheeks for a minute before filling it with Coke and taking a sip, letting the cool bubbles trail down his throat.

“Hey,” Nathaniel said from the doorway.

“Hey.”

“You having fun?”

“Yeah.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes.  “Liar.”

“I’m not-” Dave started to insist, and then he paused.  “Yeah, okay.  I guess I don’t know how to do _this_.”

“Do what? Have a soda, talk to friends?”

Dave shuffled his feet on the linoleum.  “I don’t have a lot of friends.”   _Not anymore, not now that I’ve left the neighborhood and gave up hockey_.   _And it’s not like I had that many to begin with, anyway._

“Well.  None of us are going to bite.  That’s what everyone’s always told me anyway, about theater kids.  Everyone is family.  Once you’re a part of us, you’ll always be a part of us.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Dave said.

Nathaniel busied himself with his own red plastic up and an almost empty bottle of root beer.  “I’m sorry the bottle didn’t land on you,” he said, soft, over the resumed thump of music from the living room.  “I would have liked to kiss you.”

“You could have cheated,” Dave said, squirming a little.

Nathaniel cocked his head and stared at Dave while he put the lid back on the soda and tossed the bottle into an overflowing recycling bin under the counter.  “Is that your way of saying you wanted me to kiss you?”

“M-maybe,” Dave stammered.  “I don’t- I’ve never-” he didn’t even know what to say.

“Because it’s okay if you do.  And it’s okay if you don’t know.  Do you know, yet?”

“Know what?”  Dave leaned against the counter, watched Nathaniel come around toward him, slowly closer and closer.

“Who you are?  Because if you’re not sure, if you _don’t_ want me to do this, I won’t.  I won’t take that from you.”

“Take what?”

Nathaniel was right next to him, too close and not close enough.  Dave shuffled half an inch to his right.  “Your first kiss,” Nathaniel said, so low that Dave almost couldn’t hear him.  “I mean, I want to, but if you’re not sure you want me to, or you don’t know yet if you’re . . . into guys, then I won’t.”

Dave just stood there feeling his heart pound, trying to catch his breath and make his vocal cords work enough to get his reply out.  “I am,” he finally managed.

“Into guys or wanting me to kiss you?”

Dave was beyond grateful that Nathaniel wasn’t actually asking him to say it, to declare his truth out loud, the words he thought he was _never_ going to be able to say.  He turned and braced one hand on the counter, looked Nathaniel square in the eyes.  “Both.”

“ _Oh.”_  Nathaniel’s breath whooshed out of him like a deflating balloon and he shuffled a little closer, just until the toes of his sneakers were touching the toes of Dave’s.  “Okay.  I, um.  I’m going to- if you’re sure-”

Dave didn’t give him a chance, he just leaned in and kissed Nathaniel, one fast and decidedly not gentle peck on the lips.  He tried to pull back, but Nathaniel was fast, grabbing Dave’s shirt and preventing him from moving away.

“Wait!” Nathaniel said.  “Just.  Let me do this right, okay?”

Dave tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded.  “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Nathaniel slid the hand from Dave’s shirt to his hip, just above the waistband on his jeans.  Dave closed his eyes and tried not to fall over.

Nathaniel’s lips were gentle and he smelled good, and Dave felt so impossibly young because he didn’t know what to do.  When Nathaniel broke the kiss he smiled at Dave, the kind of smile that Dave had never seen him give anyone else, not even Brad during the game.  It was something that made Dave’s stomach flip over, something clearly meant for just him.  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said, just above a whisper.  He took Dave’s hand and squeezed it.  “Do you think maybe I could message you tomorrow?”

Dave nodded.  “I’d like that.”

They were interrupted by squealing from the doorway.  “Awwwww,” Kelly said, turning to call into the living room.  “Hey guys, the baby gays were getting it on in the kitchen!”

A collective cooing echoed into the kitchen.  Dave went red again.  “Oh my god,” he muttered.  “This is _not_ happening right now.  I’m in a nightmare.  Worse than a nightmare.  Maybe I’m dead and this is my personal hell.”

“Hey, shhh.”  Nathaniel hadn’t let go of Dave’s hand and he squeezed it again.  “It’s okay.  Really.  Everything’s going to be fine.  Remember what I told you about theater people being family?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s true.  Those guys out there, they’ll have your back.   _Our_ backs, if that’s what you want.”

Dave smiled to himself.  “Yeah.  I think I do want.”

“Okay.”  Nathaniel tugged him toward the living room.  “Come on, let’s greet our adoring fans.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Sunday morning, Dave woke up late.  He wasn’t on the rotation for serving Mass now, not until after the play was over and since he had rehearsal at noon his parents weren’t making him go to church at all.  He stretched and listened to his mother clattering around in the kitchen downstairs.  She went to the early service at Saint Brendan’s with Nanna and Poppa, though Dave’s father preferred the 10 am at Saint Agnes’ because _it might be the same mass, but it's not the same_.  Dave didn't get it, since the only difference he could tell was that sometimes they said the Our Father in Polish at Saint Agnes'.  

“Davey!” His mom hollered from the bottom of the stairs.  “Come on, I’ve got your breakfast ready.  I saw Arlene at church  and she said she’d drive you and Maddie over.  She’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Shit,” Dave mumbled, tossing the blankets off and rolling out of bed.  He was spending too much time with the theater kids; their bad language was rubbing off on him, and he'd be grounded for sure if his mom heard him swearing.  

He glanced around his room for clean clothes, but his school clothes were still in the hamper and he’d spilled Coke on his jeans the night before.  In his bottom dresser drawer he found a barely-worn pair of GBYH sweatpants, and he added a long-sleeved Patriots shirt before jamming his feet into his sneakers.  In the bathroom he brushed his teeth and used his hands and some water to tame down the worst of his bedhead.  His backpack was still full from the day before, so he grabbed it and bounded down to the kitchen.

His mother frowned when she saw him.  “You can’t wear that to rehearsal, Davey!” she cried, ruffling his hair.

He snorted and held back a laugh.  “The older girls, most of them come to weekend rehearsals in pajamas and _slippers!”_ He held up one sneakered foot.  “At least I’m wearing shoes?”

His mother just sighed and set a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage on the table in front of him.  “What time will you be home?”

“I don’t know.  By dinner, I’m hoping.  But I’ll call if I’m going to be late.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the play, Davey, but it takes up so much time.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather play hockey again?”

“Hockey takes more time than the play.  And I _like_ the play, Mom.  I wasn’t sure I would, but I _do_ , and Mr. Fitzgerald wants me to join the Speech club in the spring since Sixies can’t do the musical.”

“We never see you,” she said softly, her back to him.  “You’re always at practice or studying.  That Maddie, she’s a nice girl, but you should have more friends than just her.”

Dave shrugged, even though his mother couldn’t see him.  “There’s nobody else from Southie in our class, or in the play.  And it’s nice to have someone to study with.”

“How was your party last night?”

Dave crunched thoughtfully on his toast, trying to figure out what to say.  “It was fun,” he said finally, once he’d washed down the bite of toast with two gulps of orange juice.  He wanted to tell her about Nathaniel, but he hadn’t even told her about the things he’d been thinking about, about boys and himself.  He’d heard her _tsk_ at news reports about gay rights and gay marriage, heard her mutter under her breath about sinners and respecting the Lord.  He was afraid.  He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she.

He was just putting his dishes in the dishwasher when Cousin Arlene honked from the street.  Dave kissed his mother goodbye and ran out to the car.  Maddie hauled the sliding side door open for him from the inside; Dylan was in the third row with a friend, all of their hockey gear piled between them and on the floor.  Dave climbed in next to Maddie in the second row and dropped his backpack on the floor with a _thunk_.  “Hi Cousin Arlene, Cousin John,” he said, waving at Maddie’s mom and step-dad.  “Thanks for the ride.”

“We were heading over that way anyway,” John said.  “Dylan’s got a game this afternoon.  Do you miss it, David?”

“Nah.”  Dave shook his head.  “It stopped being fun, and there’s no way I would have had time this year anyway.”

“Mmmm.” John just made a noise in his throat and turned up the radio.  Dylan and his friend sang along from behind them, but Maddie just sighed and rested her head on Dave’s shoulder.

“I hate them all,” she whispered as John played air guitar.  Dave laughed silently to himself.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

After dinner, Dave settled in at the kitchen table with his homework while his laundry was going.  “I could help,” his mother offered while his lights swished.

Dave put his pencil down on his math notebook.  “Wasn’t the deal when you went back to work that I would do my own laundry?”

“Well, yes, but-”

Dave rolled his eyes at her.  “I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was nine,” he insisted.  “Just because I’m busy now doesn’t mean I can’t keep doing it.  I mean, you’re busy, too.  You shouldn’t have to wash my clothes, Mom.”

She pulled out the chair across from him and settled into it.  “You’re right.  You’re a good boy, Davey.  I don’t tell you enough, but I’m proud of you.  You’re going to be more than these streets, more than this town.  Don’t- don’t think your dreams don’t matter because I might not understand them.”  She sighed.  “I’ve only ever lived on these six blocks.  I don’t want you to feel like that’s all there is for you in this world, okay?”

Dave nodded.  “Okay.”

“I want you to live your life free, Davey.”

Dave picked up his pencil and doodled a trio of stars in the margin of his notebook.  “Yeah.”

“So.”  His mother fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.  “If there’s anything you need to tell me, you can.  You’re my son and I love you.”

Dave swallowed hard and added a stylized crescent moon to the stars on his paper.  He wasn’t going to say anything.  There was nothing _to_ say, just that he and Nathaniel held hands during breaks in rehearsal, and that once, after Dave’s hard scene, Nathaniel tugged him into a corner in the wings and kissed him.  But the words were bubbling up in his throat, _there’s this boy_ and _I feel more a part of things now than I ever have._  Lingering behind all of that was a trace of _you say it’s okay and that you love me, but I hear how you talk about people like me.  Will you really still love me once I tell you?_

Dave opened his mouth to say that he loved her too, but his mother was already moving, reaching into the pocket of her house coat to slide a glossy piece of paper across the table to him.  “Linny Hawkins, who teaches the communion class at church, her oldest girl goes to this place downtown.  Linny goes to a parents thing, but she said that it’s been really good for Shannon, to be around other kids like her.”

The paper is a tri-folded pamphlet with BAGLY on the front in bubble letters.   _Support for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender and Questioning youth in the Greater Boston Area._

 _But I’m not . . ._ is what Dave wants to say, but what comes out instead is “there’s this boy.”

His mother nodded.  “Mothers always know.  That’s what Linny said.  I wondered, when you stopped playing hockey.  You used to love hockey, Davey, and then you just . . . _stopped_.  And you got quiet and stopped spending time with your friends.  But since you’ve been at Latin, you’re my Davey again.”

“I like it there,” Dave said.  “It’s got nothing to do with Nathaniel, or anything.  It’s a good place for me.”

“Nathaniel’s the boy.”  His mother didn’t ask.

“Yeah.  He’s a Beezie.”

His mother chuckled.  “That school and their slang, I swear.  He’s a _what_?”

“Ninth grader, Mom.  New to Latin.  Class IV B.  Beezie.”

“An older boy.”  She pursed her lips, a thoughtful look on her face.  “He’s not taking advantage?”

“No, Mom.”  Dave shook his head.  “He’s really nice.  We’ve just held hands.”  And he wanted to say _he kissed me, Mom, and I kissed him, and I’m still so scared that you’re going to  hate me because of this._

His mom nodded like she knew he was leaving things out.  “Well.  Just be careful, okay?  You’re still so young.  I don’t want you getting hurt.  Our hearts are delicate things.”

Dave stared at his homework.  His head was swimming.  “I didn’t mean to—this—I didn’t plan to say anything.  Not yet.”

“Oh, sweetie.  It’s okay.  Really.  I told you, I think I’ve known for a while.”

“What about Dad?” Dave could hardly get the question out.  “Did you talk to him? Does he know?”

She shook her head.  “No.  I mean, he might know, but we haven’t talked about it.  You can tell him, if you want, or I can, or you can wait.  I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I also want you to know you can talk to me.”

Dave blinked and was stunned to feel tears on his cheeks.  He swiped at them with his hands and sniffled.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Davey.  What in the world do you have to be sorry for?”

“For _this_.  For being . . .” Dave paused, took a breath.  Steeled himself for the words he’d never said before, words that were so much harder than _there’s this boy_.  “For being gay, Mom.  I’m gay.”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, much the way Nathaniel had at the party.  “I love you, Davey.  Thank you for telling me.”  They weren’t a family that hugged a lot, and Dave didn’t necessarily _want_ a hug, so the hand-squeezing felt just right.  Still, he couldn’t believe that things had gone so smoothly.   _I never thought that it would be_ okay _,_ he thought, and then startled when his mother asked “why not?”

“That was my out-loud voice, wasn’t it?” He laughed, and it felt lighter than anything had in a long time.

“You didn’t think I was going to love you, after you told me?”  His mother wiped at her own cheeks, then.

Dave nodded.  “The way you talk, when the news . . .”

“You’re my boy.  Mothers never stop loving their kids.  We might have to do work ourselves to feel settled with who our kids are, but that’s _my_ job, not yours.  Your job is to be happy and healthy.  Let _me_ worry about the rest.”

“Okay, Mom.”  Dave picked up his pencil again and tapped the eraser end on his notebook.  “Can I- I need to finish this, and I think I can switch my clothes over, finally.”

She _tsk’ed_ at him and motioned to the stairs.  “Go on up, finish it in your room.  I’ll take care of the laundry tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dave insisted.

“I don’t, but I want to.  It’s something I _can_ do for you, Davey.  It’s okay to let people do things for you.  You don’t have to hold the whole world up on your shoulders.”

Dave closed his book and set his notebook on top.  He didn’t know what to say, but he wasn’t about to turn down his mother’s offer.  He knew he was growing up, but it felt nice to be taken care of, still, sometimes.  “Okay.  Thanks, Mom.  For everything.”

She smiled at him and patted his shoulder.  “You’re welcome, Davey.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave stood on Boylston Street, rocking back and forth on his heels and watching kids trickle inside.  The folded pamphlet his mother had given him back in the fall was stiff in his pocket, and he ran his fingers over the edges like his grandmother did her rosary beads.  His ears and nose were stinging from the unusually late in the season cold, but he’d left his hat in his locker and he wasn’t sure, yet, whether he actually wanted to go in or not.  It would have been so easy to walk away, to go over to the library or take the red line out to Cambridge and spend the afternoon doing his homework at The Coop or over hot chocolate at Burdick's.  But he’d promised his mother that he’d try, try to meet other kids since Nathaniel’s dad had gotten transferred _again_ over Spring break, speech had finished up the weekend before, and Maddie had been given dance lessons for her birthday.  He didn’t know what to do with empty afternoons, and he supposed that some kind of drop in group was better than nothing.

Still.  The idea of a hot chocolate was really appealing and he was just turning to head back to the T stop when someone hooked an arm around his and swept him through the double glass doors.

“Relax, newbie,” the kid said once they were inside.  “The first day is always the hardest.  But we won’t bite.”  He tugged the hood of his sweatshirt down, revealing neon green hair and thick black-rimmed glasses.  “Everyone’s really nice.”

“How did you know I was new?”  Dave knew it was a stupid question, but asked it anyway for something to break the silence with.

“New kids always look like they’re going to puke.  You were looking kind of green.”

“I’m not gonna.  Puke, I mean.  It’s just, you know.”

The kid grinned at him.  “Pretty terrifying.  I know.  Seriously, though, you picked a good day to come.  It’s movie day, last Wednesday of the month.  Today we’re watching some indie thing from the '90's, and Leela’s mom always makes snacks for movie day.”

“Okay.”  Dave followed the kid to the elevator.  “I’m Dave,” he said once the doors were closed.

“Myles,” the boy said, pushing his glasses up his nose.  The doors dinged and the elevator doors opened onto a brightly painted hall.  Dave could hear kids talking and laughing, and over the din of that the faint hum of a TV.  “C’mon,” he said, tugging on Dave’s sleeve.  “I’ll introduce you around.”

There were kids sitting around in overstuffed chairs, others playing board games at long tables, and more doing homework in a nook with computers.  A girl in a uniform from one of the Catholic high schools was setting snacks out, and when she turned and caught Dave’s eye, she handed her bowl of chips off to a really young looking kid and bounded over to him.  “You’re David, right?” she asked, fidgeting and tightening her ponytail.  “Patricia Karofsky’s son?  I’m Shannon, I know your mom from St. Brendan’s.”

Dave thought maybe he was going to die right there.  His cheeks heated from embarrassment, and he looked down at the floor.  “Hi,” he said, unable to make himself look at Shannon.  “Thanks for, um.  For telling my mom about this place.”

Shannon grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the kids at the homework tables.  Dave waved feebly at Myles, who just chuckled.  “I didn’t tell her, _my_ mom did.  I swear, since I came out my mom has been like a one woman PFLAG recruitment committee.  I’m _so_ glad you’re here!”

She pulled out a chair and nodded for Dave to sit, and she took the chair next to him.  “I’ve been waiting for you to come to a meeting, my mom told me you came out _months_ ago.”

Dave crossed his arms on the table and lowered his head down onto them.  “I can’t believe this is happening right now,” he said, more to himself than to Shannon.  “Does all of Southie know I’m gay?”

Shannon patted his back.  “No.  I mean, maybe some of the other St. Brendan’s moms?  They sure do like to gossip during coffee hour.  But I really think most of that stays at church.”

Dave waited until Shannon turned her attention back to her much-erased Geometry worksheet before pulling out his own homework.  He had done all of his science in study hall, and finished his Latin on the train.  All he had left was an algebra problem set and reading Lord of the Flies, but he liked to read at home, so he started in on his math.  He and Shannon worked side by side, his pencil scratching swiftly and her eraser working furiously, until two not-quite-adults pushed a TV on a cart into the room and whistled.

Shannon slammed her book closed.  “Most days it’s just drop in, but Wednesdays we have group, and Thursday nights there’s specialized groups.  There’s a discussion topic and stuff, and sometimes a lecture or health and safety information.  And of course, today it’s movie day!”

“Okay,” Dave said, and followed Shannon to the middle of the room.  There were chairs, but most of the kids settled on the floor, sitting on cushions and beanbag chairs and each other.  Shannon joined a trio of older kids, and Dave found Myles very suddenly in his space.  “She’s a whirlwind,” Myles said.

“Yeah,” Dave agreed.

“But she’s, like, super nice, and really good at making the new kids feel welcome.  Don’t worry; you really will be just fine here.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

The Wednesday large group meetings were okay, and Dave went to drop in a couple of days a week just to have other people around while he did homework.  But he loved Thursdays, when there was a succession of smaller groups.  There were five other boys and girls who regularly came to the Young Teens group; at 15 they’d be able to go to the single-sex groups, but Dave liked being with kids his age.  And their group facilitators, Andi and James, were awesome.  He was something of an oddity for having had a boyfriend already, but nobody teased him or cared about it at all.

The last week of May, all of the group leaders were oddly serious.  “What’s up with them?” Dave asked Myles over the cookies before Wednesday’s group.

“Oh, it’s time for the annual coming out talk.”

“Huh?”  Dave snagged three chocolate chip cookies, a sugar, and an M&M.  He felt Myles staring at his plate.  “What?  I grew like three inches since spring break.  It’s so stupid.  And I’m always freaking hungry.”

Myles just shook his head.  “Whatever, dude.  The coming out thing, they do it every year before Pride.  I guess a lot of kids either come out on purpose or get found out, this time of year, and school’s getting out soon.  Sometimes kids have a really hard time, in the summer, without school to escape to.”

“And without here to come to.”  Dave knew that if his summer hadn’t already been planned for him, he’d miss getting to come downtown and be around people who knew and understood who he was.

“Yeah.”  Myles ran a hand through his hair.  “Don’t remind me.  Ten weeks of playing at being the obedient son for my dad and stepmom.  I’m supposed to be _a good role model, Myles_ , for my little stepbrother, but I figure as long as I teach him to skateboard and take him to the pool, we’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to visit my grandparents for the summer,” Dave said, settling into one of the chairs and crossing his legs under him.

“How can you even _sit_ like that?” Myles said more than asked.

Dave shrugged.  “It’s comfortable.”

“Whatever.  So, grandparents?”

“Yup.  Grandparents in Ohio.”

Myles snorted.  “Have fun with that, dude.”

“I will,” Dave said.  He liked his grandparents a lot, and spending summers with them was always relaxing.  “Have fun with your stepmother.”

Myles rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, I _definitely_ won’t.”

It was warm outside and the sun was only just beginning to go down when Dave emerged from group just after 7 pm, but he put on his hoodie before heading to the T; the meeting had left him chilled in a way that had nothing to do with the blasting air conditioning.  He walked the extra blocks to the Red Line instead of hopping the Green Line on Boylston and then transferring.  It took longer, but he didn’t feel like hurrying to get home.

He didn’t really feel like going home at all, but he had nowhere else _to_ go.

Instead, he rode the Red Line out all the way to Alewife and _then_ back, getting off at the Broadway stop.  It was a long walk, all the way down to the water and then across to Castle Island.  The fort was closed, but the park was open year round and Dave had always liked the way it felt like part of the city but also apart from it, like you could go there and pretend that you were anywhere but Southie.  Sometimes he hated the way it felt, suffocating and full of relatives and friends of relatives who never left and never seemed to think there was anything wrong with living in the same place your entire life.  Not just the same city or neighborhood, but the same _block_.  Sometimes even the same _house_.  Dave desperately didn’t want to become like them.  He didn’t want to be a person who didn’t understand ambition and the all-encompassing urge to just escape.

Some days, he thought about getting on a bus and seeing where he would end up, but something always held him back.  A little voice in his ear saying _stick it out, things will be okay and you’ll get out of here_.  But when he listened to the kids at group talk about parents who wouldn’t talk to them, who didn’t understand, who changed the locks, he wondered.

_Maybe I’ll get out of here, but what will it cost me?_

_What will it cost all of us, just to survive?_

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave put his earbuds in as soon as he got up to street level, and bounced along to the _Avenue Q_ soundtrack he’d gotten from Maddie for his birthday while he walked home.  He rubbed absently at the marker that was smudged along the inside of his arm from wrist to elbow and smiled to himself.  The center had been a hotbed of activity all week, with Pride coming up on Sunday, and there were tons of new people there, college kids who hadn’t aged out yet back for the summer and new kids lingering outside much like Dave had his first day.  But today, even the new kids got caught up in the excitement.  The celebratory atmosphere spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the building, music and laughter and everyone excited to the point of giddiness.  They colored posters and pawed through boxes of t-shirts, and the group leaders had ordered pizza for everyone.  Dave was still burning off adrenaline from the rush of the day, his skin too tight and flushed hot, sunburn prickling his scalp and the back of his neck, when he climbed the steps to his front porch.  The door was open and the screen was down, the Red Sox on the TV, but nobody was in the living room or kitchen.

“Hello?” Dave called, looking for his dad.  His mom was at a sign-making party of her own, with her PFLAG group, but all evidence pointed to his dad being home.  “Dad?  I’m home!”

He tossed his backpack on the kitchen table and grabbed a Coke from the fridge.  “Dad?” he called again, only to startle when he turned and found his dad standing still and silent in the doorway.  In the background, Fenway Park was singing _Sweet Caroline_.

“David.”  His dad was frowning at him.  “Is this what you’ve been doing all those afternoons after school?”  He shoved a slightly crumpled piece of paper at Dave, who recognized it as one of the fliers for the under-16 boys’ group that had started up last month.

Dave was so shocked that he didn’t even stutter over his reply.  “Yes,” he said, meeting his father’s eyes.  The voices of his mother and his friends echoed in his head.   _You have nothing to be ashamed of.  God made you this way.  This is who you **are** ; you don’t have to hide it from the world.  _“Yeah, I go there for group and to hang out.”

“Your mother knows.” It wasn’t a question.  “Her . . . . thing, it’s about _this_?” He gestured with the pamphlet again.

“You’ll have to talk to Mom about that.  But I can tell you anything you want to know about me.”  He pulled out a chair and sat, motioned for his dad to do the same.

His dad settled into his own chair with a heavy sigh.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  I’m assuming your mother knows.”

“Yeah.  I didn’t mean to tell her, but it just happened.  And I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want it to change things between us.”

“Except it did,” his dad said softly.  “All the theater and quitting hockey and the new school.  I thought you were pulling away because you were too involved in your new life that you didn’t have any time left for your old dad.  It wasn’t that you didn’t have the time, it’s that you were hiding from me.”

“Not from _you_ ,” Dave protested.  “Not _really_ from you.  I just- I didn’t know how to _tell_ you, and then it was just easier _not_ to.”

“Because you thought I’d react badly?”

Dave shook his head.  “No.  I mean, not exactly.  But giving up hockey felt like I was giving up the only thing you and I really had in common, and I didn’t want there to be one more thing about me that was disconnected from you.  I know it makes no sense, but I thought that if you didn’t know then I could just be your Davey for a little longer.”

“You’ll always be my Davey,” his dad said.  “I just don’t like the idea of you keeping secrets because you don’t want to hurt _me_.  Let me worry about me.”

“So you’re okay with me being gay?”

“I’m glad you told me the truth.”

"But you're okay.   _We're_ okay, right?"

His dad ran a hand over his face and sighed.  "I'm sure you're busy, and the game . . ." he gestured halfheartedly to the living room.

"Yeah, Dad.  I'm busy.  And you've got the game."   _And I just told you the hardest thing in the world and now you're acting like nothing happened._

Even though he wanted to, he didn't let himself cry.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“Are you sure you don’t want to go be with your friends?” Dave’s mom tugged on the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it down over the waistband of her shorts.  “You shouldn’t have to walk with your mom.”

Dave looked around at the people milling around, slowly clumping into groups.  He stuck out like a sore thumb in his purple BAGLY shirt, one bright spot in a sea of PFLAG yellow.  “I want to walk with you,” he said.  “It feels important.  I mean, it’s kind of a big deal for both of us, right?”

His mom nodded.  “I suppose it is.  I wish your father had come along.”

“It’s okay if it takes him time.  They say in group that not everyone moves at the same pace, and sometimes it’s harder for parents because we’ve known who we are for a long time and then we go and change it up on you guys.”

His mother laughed.  “They say the same thing at PFLAG.  But Davey, I don’t need you to walk with me.  Really.  You should go walk with your friends.”

Dave could hear the music blasting from the BAGLY contingent that, no doubt, most of the kids were dancing to.  It was tempting, but.  “I feel like I want to walk with family, the first time.”

Arms wrapped around Dave from behind, making him jump in surprise.  “That’s because you’re a _loser_.”

“And you’re a wannabe,” he retorted, falling easily into their familiar teasing.

“I might be a wannabe, but I’m wearing this purple shirt for you so come on and introduce me to your _other_ friends.”

Dave took her hand, squeezing it gently.  “You came.”

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes and fixing Dave with what he’d come to call her _Dave’s being a dumb ass_ look.  “Like I’d be anywhere else.  This is _so_ much cooler than Dylan’s stupid soccer game.  She leaned close to Dave and whispered in his ear so none of the grown-ups could hear her.  “I fucking hate sports, you know.”

Dave feigned shock.  “Oh, _Madeleine_ ,” he teased.  “What would the _Lord_ think?”  He took her hand and led her through the maze of PFLAG parents, the gay swim team, and a GSA from Cambridge Rindge and Latin.

“I don’t care; I’m not taking his fucking name in vain.”

Dave snorted and Maddie dissolved into giggles.

“Seriously, though,” he said, over the _thump thump_ of the music.  “Thank you for coming.”

Maddie hugged him again.  “You’re my best friend, David, _of course_ I was going to come.”

After the parade, one of the PFLAG moms hosted a cookout. Dave sat under the shade of a tree with a watery cup of 7-up watching Maddie socialize.  “She’s coming out of her shell,” his mother said, settling next to him with a sagging paper plate of sliced watermelon.  “And so are you.”

Dave shook his head.  “I thought Maddie and I were matched just right,” he said, holding a wedge of melon out from his body so it didn’t drip on him.  “But she’s a lot braver than I am.”

“She’s braver in a different way than you are, is all,” his mother replied.  “She helps you stay out of your head.  And don’t you worry, Davey.  You’re plenty brave.  You’re the reason she and I are even here today.  It would have been so easy for you to just hide away, but you didn’t.  I think _you’re_ the brave one.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Summer, 2007**

**_Youth Theater Celebrates Fifteen Years!_ **

_The Allen County Junior Repertory Theater is seeking actors ages 12-16 to participate in its fifteenth annual summer theater intensive.  Auditions will take place Monday, June 18_ _ th _ _at the playhouse in Elida, and the company’s performances of a musical version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream will an evening show on Friday August 3rd and a matinee on Saturday the 4th.  Maisie Rollins, director of the Junior Rep, says that everyone is welcome, in any capacity.  “We need lots of skilled people involved in this show,” Rollins said.  “Without carpentry and stage crew, costumes, make-up, sound, and lighting, we wouldn't be able to go onstage.  Come join us if any of that interests you!”_

On the last day of June, Dave boarded a plane to Ohio to spend six weeks with his grandparents.  It was something of a tradition, sandwiched between a week of science camp in June and two weeks at overnight Scout camp in August, but this was the first year he was allowed to fly alone.  Grandpa Karofsky met him at the airport in Columbus and they talked about plans for the summer as they drove.  “Your father said you’re interested in plays,” he said, turning down the talk radio station.

“Yeah,” Dave said.  “I was in the play at school in the fall.  This year I’ll get to be in the spring musical, too.  If I hadn’t come here, my friend Maddie and I were going to do the program at North Shore Youth Theater.  She really wants to go to one of those overnight camps, but.”  Dave didn’t know what to say about the ways that there usually wasn’t extra money for things like that in Southie, so he left it alone.

“You have your summer reading.  What else are you going to do?  Because your grandmother has her volunteering, and I have my radio club.  You’re old enough now to decide if you want to play sports or something else.  Now, if you really want to make the commitment, our neighbor’s two boys are going to be with the youth theater this summer.  You know them, those nice boys, Kurt and Finn.”

Dave shook his head.  “I don’t remember,” he said, staring out the window as farms and empty stretches of horizon sped past.  He’d never gotten too invested in the other kids he met on his grandparent’s street or at the public pool, because it wasn’t like he was looking for lifelong friends.

“Such nice boys.  Finn helps us with the snow in the winter, and Kurt brings us Christmas cookies.”

“Okay,” Dave said, even though he really didn’t know who his grandfather was talking about.  “I didn’t know there was a youth theater in Lima.”

“Not in Lima, no, but out in Elida.  It’s a regional thing, Kurt was telling me the other week when I took my car in for an oil change.  Mr. Hummel runs the garage across from Schoonover Park.  You should go over there later.”

“The garage?” Dave was confused.

“Across the street to the Hummel-Hudsons.  Talk to the boys about the play.  I mean, if you’re serious about this thing the way your dad seems to think.”

Hm.  Dave hadn’t said more than a handful of words to his dad since coming out to him right before Pride.  “I didn’t think Dad cared one way or another what I did.  It’s not hockey or baseball, so what does it matter.”

“Ach,” his grandfather grunted.  “Your father, he’s always been that way.  It’s hard for him to see past people’s differences.  He’s just getting used to the way things are now.  He’ll be okay.  Now, tell me.  Do you have a special boy?”

“Oh my god, Grandpa!”

“What?”

Dave let his head drop against the window with a light thunk.  “I didn’t know Dad told you.”

“Your mother told us.  Your grandmother is waiting to grill you, but I promise I won’t ask any embarrassing questions.”

“You’re too late.  Asking at _all_ is embarrassing.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

After Dave’s grandmother fussed over him, commenting over and over about how tall he’d gotten since Christmas, how handsome, how proud she was of him for being himself, and after they had all stuffed themselves on hamburgers on the grill, corn on the cob, and sliced tomatoes, his grandmother shoved a foil-wrapped plate into his hands.  “Apple turnovers.  You go over and take those to Mrs. Hudson.  Be home by dark.”

The Hudson-Hummel house was bigger than Dave’s grandparents’ little split-level.  A white pickup truck and a green station wagon were parked in the driveway and two bikes were propped against the garage door, just out of reach of the spray from the sprinkler that was arcing over the lawn.  Dave waited until it was farthest away from him before darting up the walk.  The door was open; Dave could hear music and the computerized booming of video game explosions, and a man’s voice yelling to _turn that racket down, boys._  Dave knocked on the screen door and then stepped back, waiting.

A woman came to the door, wiping her hands on the legs of her jean shorts.  “Oh, you must be-” she began.

“I’m David Karofsky, Lara and Paul’s grandson.” He tipped his head back toward his grandparent’s house.  He thought he saw the shadow of his grandmother watching him from the dining room window, but he wouldn’t swear to it.  “You must be Mrs. Hudson.  My grandmother wanted me to give these to you.”

Mrs Hudson opened the door and motioned Dave inside, taking the plate.  “Oh, turnovers.  Lara makes the _best_ turnovers.  The ones with the raspberry and cream filling are to _die_ for.”

“These are apple.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded.  “Also a good choice.  But Finn doesn’t like the raspberry ones so I don’t have to worry about them disappearing before I’ve gotten to have one.”

“Oh.”  Dave shifted from foot to foot.  “Well.  I should-”

“Wait, no.  The boys are both home.  You haven’t met them, have you?”

Dave shrugged.  “My grandfather says yes, but I don’t remember.”

Mrs. Hudson laughed.  “Trust me; you’d remember if you had.  Kurt! Finn!” she called, loud enough to startle Dave.  “We have a visitor.  Come down, please.”

Dave listened as two doors slammed and two sets of feet clomped down the hall.  One set of feet moved quickly down the stairs; the other devolved into a series of thumps and a muffled _ouch_ followed by silence.  Then an exasperated voice.

“You fell again.”

“Only because I keep tripping over my own feet.  You’d fall too if you’d grown out of two sizes of sneakers in the last three months.””

“I wish.  I’m going to be shorter than all the girls, even, when school starts.”

Two boys, one tall in basketball shorts and a Cincinnati Bengals t-shirt, the other right around Dave’s height in khaki shorts and a plain red t-shirt, filled the doorway.  “Dude, are those Mrs. Karofsky’s turnovers?  I hope they're apple  ‘cause the other ones have seeds.” The tall one pushed past Dave and the other boy, reaching a hand out to lift a corner of the foil.   

Mrs. Hudson slapped his hand away.  “We use manners in this house, Finn.  Say hello to David, the Karofsky’s grandson.  He's here for the summer.”

Finn reached his fist out for a bump, which Dave returned awkwardly.  Kurt waved from the doorway.  “Hi,” he said, quiet.

“Hi,” Dave said back.  “My grandfather said something about you doing theater this summer?”

Kurt nodded seriously.  “The Junior Repertory is doing a musical version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  And I’m finally old enough to join.  I mean, I was last year, too, because you have to be twelve, but I broke my elbow and missed auditions, and then I had that stupid cast _all_ summer so I couldn’t even do crew or costumes.”  He paused and took a breath, and then looked Dave over from his battered sneakers to his Red Sox t-shirt.  “Why?”  Dave tried not to flinch at the accusatory tone in Kurt's voice.

“Because I want to do it, too.  I was in _The Laramie Project_ at my school in the fall.”

Kurt’s eyes went huge.  “What kind of school do you go to?  Because they’d never let that happen here.”

Dave grinned.  “Dude.  You know the play!”

“No.”  Kurt looked down at the floor.  “I mean, I do, but only because of the movie.  You know, the HBO one?  Like I said, they’d never allow it here.”

“The movie was good.  I watched with my b- um.  With my theater friends.”  Dave caught himself before blurting out _boyfriend_.  As comfortable as he'd gotten at BAGLY, he still didn't feel like coming out to strangers.  But he saw Kurt's eyes widen, and he shrunk back into the door frame, suddenly looking half his size.

Mrs. Hudson interrupted Dave's struggle to find something to say.  “Why don't you boys take these upstairs and visit for a while.”  She pushed three turnovers on a paper plate across the counter.

“Thanks, Mom,” Finn said, snagging the plate and grabbing one of the turnovers.  “C’mon, guys.  Let's go.  I need to get back to my game, I was finally kicking Puck’s butt.”  He raced back up the stairs, Kurt on his heels yelling _you don’t get to keep all the turnovers, Finn, that’s not fair!_

Dave climbed more slowly, and by the time he reached the top Kurt was standing in an open doorway with the plate in his hand.  “C’mon,” he said, “I have my own TV.  We can watch a DVD if you want, if you have time.”

Dave shrugged.  “I just have to be home by dark.”

Kurt snorted.  “I can see your grandparent’s front door from my window.  I don’t think getting you home by dark will be a problem.”

Dave stepped into Kurt’s room, taking in collages of ticket stubs and Playbill covers, theater posters, and a table piled high with colorful fabric practically burying a sewing machine that looked like the same one his grandmother had, sleek and black and old-fashioned.

Kurt knelt down in front of a slim bookcase, fingers flicking over the spines of DVD cases.  “I have _Oklahoma!_ and _Gypsy_ and the anniversary special of _Les Miserables_.  I wish I had _Miss Saigon_ , but they haven’t recorded it yet.  And I have the movie version of _A Chorus Line_ , have you ever seen it?”

“No.”  Dave shook his head.  “I haven’t seen any of those.  You can’t do the musical at my school until you’re in 8th grade, and I don’t even know if I can even sing, anyway.”

Kurt pulled a case off the shelf and opened it, sliding the disc into his DVD player.  “It doesn’t matter, if you can sing or not.  They’re just good shows.”

“So what are we watching?”

“ _A Chorus Line_.  I love it, but it’s another show that they would never do here in Lima.  It’s too risqué.”

“Okay.”

“Trust me,” Kurt said, pulling pillows off his bed and piling them on the floor.  “You’ll love it.”

He motioned to Dave to sit, and then he set the plate of turnovers between them and pressed play.

Two hours later, Dave was staring open mouthed at the TV.  “That was . . . amazing,” he said while the credits rolled.

“Right?” Kurt said, running his finger over the last of the crumbs on the plate.  “I love Cassie,” he said with a sigh.  “If I could dance at all, I would want to be her.”

“Paul,” Dave said around the lump in his throat.  “I think I kind of get him?  Needing something like a part in a show to make him feel like he mattered.”

“My dad says we all matter.”

Dave smiled.  “I think I might like your dad.”

“He’s a good guy.  He doesn’t seem to mind that I might . . . that I’m not . . . I don’t like sports.”

Dave wasn’t sure what not liking sports had to do with anything.  “Um, okay?”

“I mean . . .” Kurt looked at his knees, fingers plucking at the hem of his t-shirt.  “Downstairs, it sounded like maybe you almost said that you had a b-b-boyfriend.”  His voice was so soft and so shaky that Dave almost didn’t hear him.

“I did,” Dave said.  “We met working on the play, but he moved away in the spring.”

Kurt’s head snapped up, his gaze meeting Dave’s.  “Seriously?  You _really_ had a boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”  Dave felt his cheeks heat.  “I mean, we just held hands and stuff.  It wasn’t, like, _serious_ or anything.”

“What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Do they know?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt nudged his foot against Dave’s.  “Are you going to tell me how they reacted, or am I going to have to ask you every single embarrassing thing about –” he lowered his voice to a whisper.  “Coming out.”

Dave blinked.  “Are you- I mean, the first thing I learned in group was not to assume anything.  And the older kids there, they said it can be rude to ask, which makes it _really_ hard to know, you know?”

Kurt nodded, and Dave just kept twisting himself up in knots trying to find the absolute right words to ask without asking.  “I mean, I didn’t want to offend you by asking, and I’m really bad at guessing.”

“I am,” Kurt burst out, breathless, eyes bright and hands shaking.  “I am.  Um.  Like you.”

Dave peered down at his t-shirt.  “A Red Sox fan?  I thought you told me you didn’t like sports.  And you can’t be from Boston because your accent’s all wrong.”

“No,” Kurt said, blushing.  “You know.”

Dave took a chance and nudged Kurt back, his knee against Kurt’s thigh.  “You can say it, you know.  I promise, the world isn’t going to end, you’re not going to die or anything.”

“I might,” Kurt mumbled.  “You know, from embarrassment or something.”

Dave thought about that first night, walking home in the dark, when he told Maddie, about the most important thing she’d said to him.  “I won’t tell anyone.”

He felt more than heard Kurt suck in a breath next to him.  “It’s not like I haven’t said it to myself a million times.  Or had to listen to other people say it _about_ me before I even knew what it meant.”

“Nathaniel – my _boyfriend_ – he would say that you should own it, then, as long as it’s really who you are.”

“It is.  I just-” Kurt sighed and dropped his head back onto his bed.  “I don’t think I can say it yet.”

“I still won’t tell anyone,” Dave promised.  “I mean, there’s nobody to tell in the first place, but I wouldn’t do that.”

“I believe you,” Kurt said.  “If you’re serious about the show, Carole is going to drive us out there on Monday.”

“Finn’s really going to act?”

Kurt laughed so hard he started to cough.  “You’re funny,” he said when he’d caught his breath.  “Finn has two left feet.  No, he’s working on the stage crew.  He failed math, and his teacher thought that _practical applications of math in the everyday world_ would be better for Finn than sitting in summer school.  So.  Stage crew or working with my dad at the garage, but since he started growing Dad doesn’t trust him around cars.  I think his exact words were _no more cars until he stops acting like an overgrown puppy_.”

“And power tools are better?”

“No.  I suppose not.  But there will be more supervision there than at the shop.”

Dave nodded.  “That makes a warped kind of sense.”

“Right?”  They both laughed then, and were interrupted by a knock on the door.  “David?  Kurt?  David’s grandfather called half an hour ago, wanting him home.”

Dave looked to the window, startled to see that it was already well past dusk.  “Oh, man.  Hopefully I won’t be grounded for the rest of the summer now.”

Kurt walked him down the stairs; Dave expected them to part at the front door, but Kurt walked across the street with him.  Dave’s grandfather was waiting for them, door open and streaming light onto the porch.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Karofsky,” Kurt said.  “I didn’t mean to keep Dave.  He told me he had to be home by dark, but we were watching a movie and then talking.”

“Neither of us realized it had gotten so late,” Dave added.  There was no need for Kurt to take all the blame.

“I suppose it’s to be forgiven, your first night in town,” his grandfather said with a wink and a half smile.  “Thank you, Kurt.”

“You’re welcome.”  Kurt turned to Dave.  “Come over Monday morning, we’re leaving around 8:30.”

“Great.”

“Goodnight, Kurt,” Dave’s grandfather said pointedly, shooing Kurt out the door and waving across at Mrs. Hudson, who was standing on _their_ porch watching, too.

Once Kurt was safely home, Dave shoved the door closed and glared at his grandfather.  “What?  We watched a movie and talked about the play.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were acting like we were on a date or something.  God.  I’m _so_ embarrassed!”

His grandfather clasped his shoulder hard.  “If I wasn’t embarrassing you, I wouldn’t be doing my job, Davey,” he said.  “Now.  Up to bed.  Church in the morning, and your grandmother likes the early Mass.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave was busy attacking his script with a highlighter when Kurt flopped into the seat next to him.  Up on stage, Maisie was working with Oberon and Titania, and out in the lobby someone was plunking out one of Puck’s songs on the out of tune piano.

“Do you need a ride home?  ‘Cause we’ve got the room.”

“Not today.  My grandmother has some garden club thing, so this is on her way.”

“Oh.”  Kurt was silent, hunched into his sweatshirt despite it being 90 already outside.

The doors banged open and Finn stalked down the aisle, headed toward the wings where there was sawing and hammering going on.  As he passed them he shot Kurt a death-glare and kept going.

“What’s going on?”

Kurt burrowed further into his sweatshirt.  “My brother is the spawn of Satan,” he mumbled.

“Why, what’d he do?”

“He at the last bagel and used all the hot water in the shower and it was his day to pick music in the car, so of course we had to listen to something with too much guitar and too much screaming.”

Dave was sure there was more, because three weeks of spending nearly every day together had made him sensitive to Kurt’s moods, so he waited.  And waited.  And waited until Oberon and Titania were replaced onstage with Lysander and his script was more highlighter and margin notes than black and white text.

“He was teasing me about having a crush on you.  He sang that stupid kissing song.  I _hate_ him.”  Dave could hear the rage in Kurt’s voice, even though he was speaking low, lest Maisie hear them.

“Do you?” Dave asked, curious.  “Have a crush on me, I mean.  I’m pretty sure that if you say you hate Finn, you mean that.”

“I don’t.”

“What? Hate Finn or have a crush on me.”

“Careful or I’ll hate you, too,” Kurt said, pushing back the hood of his sweatshirt just a little bit so Dave could actually see his face.  “No.  I don’t have a crush on you.  It’s just, I’ve never had a best friend before.  I mean, unless you count Kayla and Daisy, but that was in preschool and they both moved away, so.”

“Best friends, huh?”  Dave half wondered whether it was possible to have two best friends.  Maybe it was okay, for him, since Maddie was a girl.

“I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Dave shrugged.  “Sure.  I mean, even at my school I’m still kind of weird because none of the other boys in my grade do theater or speech, and I quit hockey.  I have Maddie, at home.  But it would be really nice to have a guy best friend, too.”

“So we’re okay?”

“Of course.”  Dave held out his highlighter.  “Want a turn?”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Neither of Dave’s parents were able to take off work to fly to Ohio just to see him in the play, but that didn’t matter to Dave.  It felt a lot like Scout camp always did, something just for him and his friends, not a place where their home lives intruded.  Instead, his grandparents and the Hudson-Hummels sat together, and Dave could hear Finn cheering from his seat when he and Kurt took their bows with the rest of the ensemble players.  Dave knew Kurt was still upset about not getting cast as Puck, but they were first year members and Dave knew from school that the new kids never got the leads.

Stepping back so the leads could take their bows, Kurt leaned over and whispered to Dave.  “Two more years and that will be us.”

“You know it,” Dave said with surety.  He knew that as long as he kept coming to Lima in the summers, he’d do the play at the Junior Rep.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave moved fast to catch a drip of ice cream with his tongue before it dripped on his knee.  The table shook as Finn hoisted himself up onto it with a bounce, and Dave’s arm went flying.  He barely kept from dropping his cone, but in the process he smashed it against his nose.

Kurt choked on laughter and passed Dave a pile of napkins.  “Thanks,” Dave mumbled, swiping at his nose and coming away with what looked like half his ice cream.  “Jesus, Finn, _stop_.  You’re like a walking disaster.”

“I can’t help it, man,” Finn said around a mouthful of the goopiest banana split Dave had ever seen.  “My mom says I’ll settle into my body eventually.”

“If you ever even stop growing.”  Kurt handed Finn his own stack of napkins.  “You eat ice cream like a toddler.”

“Oh, I’ve never been able to eat ice cream.  Just ask my mom.  I get it everywhere.”

“Uh huh.”

Dave watched Finn dab at spots on his shirt before continuing to eat his sundae.  Dave returned to work on his cone, crunching around the edge and trying not to get his teeth too far into the ice cream.

“Are you coming back next summer?”

“Probably.”

“That’s good,” Finn said, after a moment of silence.  “It’s good for Kurt to have a friend like you.  I mean, you get it, right?”

“Thanks for talking about me like I’m not here,” Kurt said.

“It’s not like that,” Finn protested.  “I just mean that Dave knows what it’s like being . . . you know.  Like you.”

“Like me how?”

“Since he’s into dudes and all.”  He fixed Dave with a look.  “I mean, you are, right?  Into dudes?  I didn’t misunderstand?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”  Dave tried to be reassuring without laughing at the entire exchange.  “Yeah, I’m _into dudes_.”

“Oh, good,” Finn said happily.  “That’s settled, then.  You’re coming back next summer and we’re _finally_ going to be done with middle school.  It’s gonna be awesome.  We’ll be like the Three Musketeers or something.”

“Or something,” Dave said.  He watched cars pulling into and out of the parking lot of the DairyFreeze, the line of people waiting to order that snaked almost to the table where Dave’s grandparents and Carole and Burt were sitting, talking and laughing.  Finn waved to a trio of kids in line, but refrained from yelling to them.  Kurt also waved and smiled, but more carefully than Finn did.  Finn finally set his sundae aside and launched himself off the table, landing with a thump on the gravel.  “I’m gonna see if they want to sit with us.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.

“What, you don’t like them?” Dave asked.

“They’re fine.  Brittany and I used to be really close when we were younger.  We’re both, you know, a little different.  Puck and Finn have practically been best friends forever.  I don’t know Santana that well at all.  We all go to different middle schools, so.”

Dave nodded.  “Yeah.  I don’t see most of my old friends now that I go to Latin.  I mean, I see some of them at church and at scouts.”

Kurt scowled, and Dave squirmed a little.  Kurt had this way of totally judging people with just his eyes, and it made Dave a lot uncomfortable even when it wasn’t directed at him.  “What?” he asked.  “You’re making that judgey face.”

“Church.  After my mom died I just couldn’t – nothing could bring her back, you know?  And it just felt pointless.”

“I think I can understand that.  And for me, it’s just what you do on Sundays.  Like eating fish on Friday during Lent.  I don’t really think about it, as far as God goes.  It’s just a thing I do, like having to go to Polish school.  I like the pageantry, and I like serving Mass.  It’s peaceful up there.”  Dave shrugged.  “It’s probably something I’ll always do, go to church.”

“Wait.”  Kurt nudged Dave’s knee with his own.  “I’m still back on Polish school.  What the hell is Polish school?”

“It’s on Saturdays during the school year, mostly to teach us Polish, but there’s food and dancing and history and culture.”

“Sounds like Hebrew school,” the boy from the line said, approaching the table with Finn and the two girls.  “But at least I got to have a bar mitzvah.  Somehow I doubt you get that at your Polish school.”

“Nope,” Dave agreed.  “No bar mitzvah.  Just more Polish school.”  He stuck his hand out to the boy.  “I’m David,” he said.

“Puck.”  He shook Dave’s hand and then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts.  “You new here or what?”

“Nah, man,” Finn butted in.  “Dave’s just here for the summer.  Well.  Until tomorrow.”

Something like relief crossed Puck’s face, but when he spoke he was laughing nervously.  “I thought maybe you’d gone and gotten a new best friend, Hudson.”

Finn shook his head.  “Dave’s Kurt’s friend, anyway.”

“And yours.”  Kurt poked Finn’s ankle with his sneaker.

“And mine,” Finn acquiesced.  “He’s cool.”

“Hi, Kurt’s friend,” the blonde girl said with a smile, plopping down on the bench in front of Kurt.  His hands went to her hair automatically, and Dave watched him separate the strands, twisting and turning until one braid snaked from her left temple down to the base of her neck.

“Here, Britt,” the other girl said, fishing in the pocket of her shorts and holding up a hair elastic.  “I only have the one, though.”

Kurt waved the offer away.  “It's okay, Santana, I have plans for Brittany’s hair.” His hands were liquid motion again, working the same braid on the right side of Brittany’s head.  Then he took the two bunches of hair from the braids and braided _them_ with the rest of her hair.  Even in shorts and a tank top, Brittany looked like a faerie or a wood sprite or something ethereal like that, not an ordinary girl at all.  Dave didn't realize he’d spoken outside of his so own head until Santana nodded at him, her face guarded but gently approving.

“Damn right she’s not ordinary,” she said.

When Kurt tapped her on the shoulder, Brittany rose from the bench and leaped out into the little patch of grass that circled the picnic tables, dancing to the tinny music emanating from inside the (ice cream stand).  Dave took the spot she had vacated, half-listening to Finn and Puck talking baseball and mostly all watching Brittany trying to entice Santana into dancing.  Kurt heaved a gentle sigh and set his hands on Dave's shoulders.  “I'm really glad you were here this summer,” he said.

Dave tipped his head back so he could almost see Kurt's face.  “Me, too.  I mean, I'm glad I met _you_ this summer.  It made Ohio a lot more fun.”

“You really will be back next summer, right?  You're not just saying that?”

“I'm not just saying that.  I really will be back next summer,” Dave promised.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave's dad drove him to camp, just like always.  Not enough kids from his troop went to make it worth renting a van or a bus; the parents had always done the driving, and Dave's dad claimed that he liked it because it reminded him of his own scout camp days.  It felt weird, though, to Dave, having to wear his uniform again, and he's a little nervous, too.  In the past he'd enjoyed making new friends at camp, but this was the first time he wished that he had support from his troop.  He'd half-heard things about scouts, about how they felt about gay kids and especially gay leaders, but when he told his troop nobody cared. It was almost like they'd already known, and maybe they had; they'd all been together, with only a handful of new additions or kids dropping out, since Tiger Cubs.  They were like brothers, the other guys in his troop, and he wished they'd managed to agree on same two weeks to come to camp, so Dave was in it alone.

The first afternoon was, typically, full of business.  Unpacking, swim and boating tests, and countless stupid getting to know you games that weren't nearly as fun (or as inappropriate) as the ones Dave played at BAGLY or theater.  But by the time they sing Taps after campfire, Dave had been placed in Advanced Swimming and Intermediate Boating, and he knew the names of all the boys in his tent.

It wasn't until they were in the tent getting ready for bed when things started to go south.  Dave got into his sweatpants and t-shirt and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, on his way to the bathroom, when his shirt caught the attention of the most obnoxious kid in the tent.  Dave knew the instant he saw him, that Dougie Nelson thought entirely too much of himself and his joke-making abilities.

“Wait!” he called, pointing a skinny finger at Dave.  “Karofsky’s wearing a _theater_ t-shirt.  You do _theater,_ Karofsky?” He pronounced it mockingly, _thea-tah_ , and Dave went on alert.

“Yeah, so?”

“Theater’s for _girls_.  Maybe you’re a girl, huh?”

Dave rolled his eyes.  “And maybe you’re an idiot _and_ an asshole, _Dougie_.”  He winced inwardly at the way he simpered Dougie’s name, but he could see the way Dougie was shrinking back in the face of Dave’s defiance.  He kept walking, practically stomping down the wood steps of the platform, keeping the better part of his rage tight in his throat.  When he got to the bathroom he flung the door open and let it bang satisfyingly behind him.  “God _damn_ him!” he fumed, slamming his toothbrush and toothpaste onto the counter.  He didn’t even notice there was anyone else at the sinks until the hunched-over figure stood, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Itsth only the firsth day,” the guy said around bristles and bubbles.  “Trouble in paradithe already?”

“Dougie Nelson is a bigoted _asshole_ , and Scout camp isn’t fucking paradise.”

The guy rinsed and spit, wiped his mouth on his forearm, and turned to look at Dave full-on.  “Whoah, okay.  No need to be hostile.  I’m not Dougie Nelson, whoever he is.”

Dave leaned against the counter.  “He’s just this uninformed jerk in my tent.”

"I'm sorry.  There's always one, you know."

"Yeah, that doesn't help."

"I guess I'm not doing my job well enough then."

"Wait, you're a counselor?  I thought you were an Eagle."

The guy shook his head.  “I wish.  Man, that was fun last year.  No.  I’m a counselor.”

“Oh, shi- um.  Sorry.  For, you know, my language and stuff.”

“Nah, it’s okay.  If I’d heard it from my midgets we’d have a problem.  But I expect teenagers to have potty mouths.  Hell, _I'm_ a teenager with a potty mouth!  I’m TJ.”

“Dave.” Dave stuck out his hand and TJ took it, shaking hard just like Dave’s dad had taught him.

“Such a _Boy Scout_ , with manners like that,” TJ teased.

Dave was glad the light in the room was dim because it hid his blush.  He started to reply, but was interrupted by running feet and small voices yelling outside.  “TJ!  TJ, Hunter found a _snake_ in his shoe!  A _snake,_ TJ!”

“Duty calls,” he said to Dave, backing out the door.  Dave listened to him walk away, soothing the boys as he went.  “Snakes won’t hurt you, at least not the ones we get here.  Poor thing, it’s probably more scared than you guys were.  Let’s come take a look, huh?  I’ve got a book, we can figure out what kind it is.”

Dave had never been more thankful for the always-freezing water that came out of the taps in the sinks camp-wide; he dunked his head, biting back a screech, and felt his neck and cheeks cool.  He brushed his teeth and was back at the tent, in his bed with a book, by the time the counselor got back from wherever most of the counselors went during the hour of time between Taps and lights out.  He pointedly  ignored Dougie, and he most definitely didn’t think about TJ.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave’s mornings were filled with the expected rotation of activities: waterfront, where they alternated swimming and boating; archery, which he was beyond terrible at; and ropes course, which he loved.  After lunch, there were electives.  Dave chose an ongoing First Aid class, and in an attempt to have a little bit of peace he sought out the Arts and Crafts shed.

He was the first one there, the first day, and more than a little surprised to find TJ setting out lumps of clay and little baskets of tools.

TJ looked up, a smile on his face.  “The Dougies of the world got you down?”

Dave flopped into a chair and started throwing his clay against the table to work the air bubbles out.  “Nah.  I’m just not a huge athlete, and I’m already waterlogged from swimming this morning.  I figured it would at least be a little quiet in here.”

TJ raised an eyebrow at Dave’s enthusiastic clay-thumping.  “Uh huh.”

“Well.  Once this part is done, maybe it’ll be a little quiet.”

The little room filled quickly, mostly with campers from the younger units, plus one much older boy on crutches with his knee in a brace.

TJ motioned to Dave, to the lump of clay he was already fiddling with.  “Today we’re making cups or pots or, really, whatever you’d like.  First you have to throw your clay to get the bubbles out; otherwise it’ll explode in the kiln and take everyone else’s stuff out with it.  The point is to have fun and be creative.  Nobody’s going to judge your work, and nobody is going to make fun of it.”  He held up a wobbly coil pot, half-collapsed on one side and painted neon green.  “I made this, here in this shed, when I was a (scout level).  My entire example of Scouting was that you had to be tough and athletic and enjoy the outdoors.  And that _is_ a part of Scouting, yes.  But scouts can also be interested in art or music.  A guy in my old troop just got his Eagle teaching dance to kids with special needs.  Working with your hands _this_ way, with _these_ materials, gives you a different way of thinking.  Who knows when that difference will _make_ a difference out there?”

Dave thinks about his friends while he works, rolling neat coils of clay and layering them on the base of his pot.  He’d like to make something for Maddie, but she’s not prone to keeping small mementos; her memories “box” lives in her bottom desk drawer and contains programs and papers and pictures, newspaper clippings and internet printouts and the very bright pink sign she carried at Pride.  But Kurt, Kurt showed Dave the tiny pile of things he treasured, his mother’s wedding ring and a brooch with a chipped stone and a practically empty perfume bottle.  A little knot of shredded satin, pink, _because the doctor told my parents I was going to be a girl, but I refused to give it up._

He squishes his coils and starts over, rolling neat slabs instead, remembering the way his 6th grade art teacher taught them to score the clay before attaching pieces and the way you had to rub the edges to join them.  Once the box was built, he rolled the lid out and used a tool that looked a lot like a barbeque skewer to etch out vines and flowers.

“For your girlfriend?” The guy with the knee brace asked, nodding at Dave’s work.

He took a breath, thinking about Dougie, and answered with a shake of his head.  “Nah, just a friend.  Right now, at least,” he said, his heart skipping a beat with his lie.  He didn’t think of Kurt _that way_ at all, and for some reason that part hurt more than lying about Kurt being a girl.

TJ stopped them with ten minutes left before the bell, and everyone helped clean tools at the inadequate sink that, _of course_ , only dispensed ice-cold water.  Dave hung back when the bell rang and helped TJ scrape clay residue off the tables and stack the chairs on top.

“You don’t have to, man.  This is what they pay me for.”

“I thought they paid you to be a snake detective.”

“Yeah, that too.  But mostly for this.”  He motioned around at the craft room.  “Is this your first year?  I’ve never seen you before.”

“No, this is my . . . third summer?  I usually come with my troop, but they couldn’t get their asses together to commit, so I’m flying solo this year.”

“And sports aren’t your thing.”

Dave shrugged.  “I used to play hockey, but it got . . . awkward.”

TJ nodded silently.  “That can happen.”

“I do theater, and speech,” Dave offered.  “I was just in Ohio visiting my grandparents and my friend and I were in a musical.”   _Oh god, Dave, just STOP talking_.

“Cool,” TJ said, turning off the light and ushering Dave to the door.  “C’mon, pizza for dinner tonight.  Don’t want to let the savages eat it all.”

Dave let TJ walk on ahead; he took his time enjoying the peace of the woods.  Sometimes he thought it would be nice to live in a place like this, trees and a little stream and crisp air.  Silence.  Solitude.  But he didn’t know how to want that and live the kind of life everyone said boys like him should want.  Boston was big enough for him; he didn’t want to live in New York or LA or London, like where one of the just graduated BAGLY kids was going for college.

The dinner line snaked out of the dining hall.  Dave joined the end behind a group of wet-haired boys, shuffling forward when the line allowed it, rocking from foot to foot when it didn’t.  When he finally made it to the serving window, all that was left was plain cheese, so Dave took two pieces and a bowl of salad, two cartons of milk, an apple, and a chocolate chip cookie.  He found the rest of his tent and took a seat at the far end of the table, far away from the boys he had no idea _how_ to get to know.  He ate in silence, and when one of the counselors pulled out a guitar after the meal and started singing, Dave sang along.

Walking back to the cabin to change into pants and sweatshirts for evening program, Dougie bounced up alongside Dave.  “So you sing too, huh?”

Dave shrugged.  “It’s fun, when its camp songs like that.”

“Okay.”  Dougie walked next to him for several uncomfortable minutes before speaking again.  “Because you know, you sing and the theater thing and then _arts and crafts_ today, man?  Seriously, you better start being careful or people’re gonna think you’re some kind of fag.”

 _And what’s wrong with that?_ Dave wanted to ask, but the words went dry and wooly on his tongue.  Instead he croaked out a _fuck off, Dougie_ , and took off running.   To where, he didn't know and didn't really care, he just needed to not be _there_ , stifled and silenced, or he was going to explode.

He didn’t expect it to be so desperately difficult, the hiding.  He supposed he’d gotten spoiled by having parents and friends and spaces that had been nothing but accepting, but it hurt that just over 24 hours into something he’d been looking forward to all winter, he wished he’d never come to camp at all.

He ran until he tripped indelicately over a tree root and face planted into the dirt.  He tasted blood in his mouth, felt more dripping from his nose.  His bottom lip was swelling and his knees were scraped raw.  “Oh, _fuck_ me,” he mumbled to himself, rolling over to sit up and take inventory.

“That was spectacularly awful,” a voice came from beside him.  TJ.

“Please tell me you have a Kleenex or fifty,” he said to the ground, watching the blood drip from his nose, making splatter marks in the dirt.

“Sorry,” TJ said.  “No Kleenex, but I have a towel.”  He shoved a beach towel at Dave.  “You’re lucky I’m off duty tonight and just happened to be on my way night swimming.”  At Dave’s hesitation he insisted.  “Take it.  It washes.”

Dave held the towel to his nose and winced.  “This is _not_ how things are supposed to be going.”

“Yeah, well.  That’s pretty typical.  C’mon, let’s get you up to the nurse.  Those need cleaning, and you need an ice pack.”

He helped Dave get to his feet, and they made their hobbling way up to the nurse’s office.  There was a line of campers waiting for evening medication, and Dave joined the end of it.  It felt like forever, but was really only fifteen minutes, before the last camper bounded past Dave and he made his way inside.

“Oh, honey,” the nurse clucked at him.  “What happened to you?”

TJ piped up from beside him.  “He had an intimate encounter with a tree and some dirt.”

“I tripped,” Dave said from behind TJ’s towel.

“Okay.  Come here.” She ushered Dave to a bed and propped him up on a pile of pillows, and then turned to TJ.  “I'll be keeping him here tonight.  Can you please bring him a change of clothes?”

“I'm not his counselor, but yes.” He clapped a hand on Dave’s shoulder.  “I’ll let your counselor know, and I’ll be back.”

“Thanks.”

Dave sat silently while the nurse attended to him, cleaning his knees and lip with antiseptic and handing him a warm wet washcloth to wipe his face.

“Were you running to or running away?” she asked, lining up bandages along the side of the bed.

“What makes you think I was running anywhere?”

She fixed him with a Look.  “This is not my first time working at Scout camp.  I know things can be hard, sometimes.”

“I wasn’t running anywhere in particular.”

She nodded.  “Away, then.  Well.  You’ll have some breathing room here, tonight,” she said.

Her voice and her hands were gentle while she bandaged him up.  “Once you get changed, I’ll set you up with some ice packs, but you can have this now.” She handed him a paper cup with two pills in it and a bottle of water.  “Ibuprofen, because you’re going to be stiff and sore tomorrow.”

Dave leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.  He didn’t want to think about the anger that had flared in him at Dougie’s teasing, and he most definitely didn’t want to think about Dougie’s teasing.  He just wanted things to be easy, like they had every summer before.

“Things can’t be easy all the time.  And I hate to tell you, you’ve pretty much hit the really sucky part of growing up.”

Dave opened his eyes and blinked at TJ, who was standing looking down at him.  “That wasn’t my inside my head voice, was it?”

“Nope.”  TJ dropped a bundle of clothes lightly on the bed at Dave’s feet and pulled over a chair so he could sit.  “You’re right, Dougie Nelson is an asshole.”

“You went to my tent.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Where else was I going to find your counselor and get you a change of clothes?  Yeah.  He’s a gem, that kid.”  TJ twisted his face up, and Dave laughed.

He nodded at the clothes.  “Get changed, then the nurse can give you your ice and you can sleep.”

Once Dave was changed, the nurse brought him three ice packs.  She also brought him a plate with three chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk.  “Don’t keep him up too late,” she warned TJ.  “Lights out rules apply here, too.”

“I won’t,” TJ said with a smile, waiting until the nurse was gone up the hall to her room with the door closed before reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts and bringing out a book.  The cover was plain green, no title that Dave could see.  But when TJ handed it to him he realized that it was covered with contact paper.  “It’s not necessarily safe to read in your tent, but nobody can bother you here.  It’s one of my favorites.  I was thinking it might help.”

Dave opened the cover to the title page.   _Boy Meets Boy_.  “I haven’t read this one,” he said softly.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  TJ stood.  “Well.  I still have some night swimming planned, so I’ll come back and see you tomorrow.”

“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Dave said.  “I’ll be fine.”

TJ smirked like he knew something Dave didn’t.  “I’ll come see you tomorrow.  Bring you something else to read, in case you finish that.”

“Fine.  Whatever.”  Dave couldn’t turn over with the ice on his knees, so he just turned his head away from TJ.  “Have fun swimming.”

“I will.  Sleep well.”

“I won’t,” Dave grumbled.   _God, why do I have to be such an ass to people who are trying to be nice to me?_

Once TJ had left and the infirmary was quiet, Dave curled up with his cookies and TJ’s book and read while the light outside darkened through dusk.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave woke to the nurse’s gentle hand on his shoulder.  “After breakfast medications will be here soon, and I have a tray for you.  Let’s get you set up in the middle room so you can have some peace and quiet.”

Dave sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, eager to prove he could stand and walk with no problem.  Except his whole body hurt.

“You took quite a spill,” the nurse said.  “It was kind of like full-body trauma.  And yes, I suppose you could sleep just as well at your tent, but here I can keep you from sneaking down to the waterfront and getting those bandages wet by going swimming.”  She winked at him.  “Seriously, though, as long as your knees look better this evening, I’ll release you back to your unit in the morning.  Unless you really want to go back there right now.”

Dave thought for a moment about facing off with Dougie again and his stomach flipped.  “I guess I’ll stay,” he said softly.  “Thank you.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

TJ materialized in the middle room right after the lunch bell rang.  “Dude.  Spaghetti today.  You want double garlic bread?”

Dave looked up from the crossword puzzle book the nurse had given him when he complained about being bored.  “Hi, Dave, how are you?” he said.

“Huh?”

Dave shrugged.  “Nothing.  You just sort of jump right into things, don’t you?”

“My mom says I have impulse control problems.  So.  Double garlic bread?”

“Sure.”  Dave crossed out the clue he’d just written in.

“Great.  I’ll be back.”  Before he backed out of the doorway he tossed two more green-covered books onto the bed.  “Here.”

“Thanks,” Dave said, setting aside the crosswords and picking up TJ’s books, flipping through them.

“So you’re, you know.” Dave asked when they were both settled into their lunches.  “Like your books.”

TJ smiled at him.  “You catch on quick.  Yes.  But nobody knows.  That’s my thing, you know?  Telling anyone, that would just get me in trouble.”

“Like, with your parents?”

“Sure.”  TJ focused his attention on twirling a forkful of spaghetti.  “Them, at school, here.  It’s just a really bad idea for me.”  He raised his eyes to Dave’s while he chewed. “It’s a bad idea for you, too, if you really are.  Like me.”

“I am,” Dave said with surety.  “My parents know, and my friends.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does!” TJ insisted.  “It matters here.  It matters to Dougie Nelson, and your troop leaders and your council.  It matters to the national organization.  They don’t allow it.  Not for scouts and not for counselors and troop leaders.  So you need to decide what you’re going to do.”

Dave was silent while he finished his lunch.  Once he’d set his fork back on his tray and finished off the last of the watery bug juice that was a signature of camp meals, he let the words come.  He couldn’t bring himself to meet TJ’s eyes.  “I don’t _want_ to have to watch what I say or who I say it to.”  He picked at a stray thread on the woven cotton blanket.  “My mom, when I told her?  She told me she wanted me to be proud of who I am.  She wanted me to live my life free.  I think, maybe, she was talking about something like this.”

“You’re going to leave?” TJ asked.

“No,” Dave said, sure but scared.  “I’m going to stay.  Poor Dougie isn’t going to know what to do.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

When Dave hobbled his way back to the tent after breakfast the next morning, Dougie and his gang were ready.  “Poor widdle Davey,” Dougie teased as Dave climbed the steps carefully.  “He got a widdle boo boo.”

“Shut up,” Dave growled, pushing past him.  “Just leave me alone.”  He focused on stuffing his dirty clothes into his laundry bag.

“Dougie, you have sweeping on the chore wheel.  Please go finish the porch.”  Their counselor, Keith, pointed to the door.  Dougie trudged outside with a scowl; Dave wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or for Keith.  “Welcome back, David.  Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dave said.  In the middle of the bundle of his clothes was the book TJ had brought him that morning, blue covered this time, Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez.  He shoved the book under his pillow, along with the letters from Kurt and Maddie that were sitting in the middle of his bed.  He’d read them later.  He had bathrooms on the wheel, so he headed up to the latrine, broom in hand, ignoring the echo of Dougie’s taunts in his head.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

When he got back to the tent after lunch, ready to settle in with TJ’s book and relax for the quiet hour, nothing immediately felt off.  The guys were either on their cots reading or listening to music, or sitting in the middle of the floor playing a raucous game of Spit.  “One, two, three, spit!” Logan called, and he and Tommy each flipped a card over before continuing to toss  cards onto two haphazard piles.  Logan nodded at Dave as he passed.  “You want next game? I can't win against Tommy.”

“No, thanks, maybe tonight though.”

“Nah,” Dougie said, looking up from his book.  “Dave’s going to be busy writing a letter to his _boyfriend_.”

“Excuse me?” Dave wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

“You’re going to write a letter to _Kurt_ , right?  I mean, he _is_ your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Dave’s brain buzzed.  He shook his head to clear it and then blinked twice before he could make out what Dougie was holding up in the air.   _Kurt’s letter_ , opened and clearly read.  “Give it back!” he shouted.  “It’s not yours, give it back.”

“Give it back, give it back,” Dougie teased, waving the letter in the air.  Dave could see the page, filled both sides in Kurt’s small, neat handwriting.  “Kurt misses you, Davey.”

“Give. It. Back.”  Dave clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep his anger from bubbling over.  He didn’t think he’d ever been so mad.  “Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

“So you really are a fag, aren’t you?”  Dougie looked at Dave with disgust.

“Why the fuck do you even _care_?” Dave asked, narrowing his eyes and remembering something they had talked about in group one week, about how sometimes the people who were the most vocal in their fear were struggling themselves.

“I don’t!”  But Dougie’s face was red and he was shaking.  “I don’t care.  You’re a _fag_ and my dad says that you’re going to burn in hell.”

Dave stepped closer to Dougie, so close that he could feel Dougie’s rage.  “Or does he really say that _you’re_ going to hell?” he said, so low that he could barely even hear himself.

Dougie shoved him, hard, two hands on his chest and Kurt’s letter crumpled between them.  Dave stumbled back for a moment before regaining his balance.  “Shut _up_!” Dougie yelled.  “Shut _upshutupshutup_!”  He clawed ineffectually at Dave’s t-shirt.  “Fucking _queer_!”

Afterwards, the only evidence Dave had of his actions were Dougie’s bleeding lip and nose and his own bruised and scraped knuckles.  He didn’t remember landing the punch, or the other guys pulling him and Dougie apart.  All he remembered was _queer queer queer_ echoing in his head, his vision gone red, ripping paper and the way the plywood floor of the tent felt against his still-hurting knees as he hit the ground.

Dave stared at an old picture on the camp director’s wall, of Scouts from the 1920’s.  The director’s voice sounded far away, but he heard his name over and over again.  “David?  David?  I asked you to explain yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Please tell me why you punched Mr. Nelson.”

“He stole my mail.”

“The other boys in your tent said that you acted in self-defense, that Douglas pushed you first.  Is that true?”

“I guess.”

“They also mentioned that he had been teasing you.  You know that we don’t stand for bullying here, but we also don’t stand for physical violence.  If he was the instigator, then that could help you.”

“No,” Dave said, readjusting the ice on his hand.  “I mean, yeah, he was teasing me. But I punched him.  He called me the worst names.”

The director looked confused.  “I don’t really understand, David.  Can you explain a little bit more?”

“No.” Dave shook his head.  “I don’t think I can.  I’m not sorry I did it, though.”

The director dropped his pen onto his desk with a sigh.  “I’ve already called Douglas’s parents; he’ll be leaving camp today.  I’d like you to stay, David, but I can’t do that unless you can reassure me that this won’t happen again.”

Dave shrugged.  “I don’t know.  If nobody calls me that name, then I guess it won’t happen again.  But they all just sat there and listened while Dougie did it, so maybe they agree with him.  And if I tell you what he said, you won’t want me here anyway, so you might as well just call my dad and have him come and pick me up.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“I don’t understand, David.  Fighting?  You’ve never been in a fight in your life.”

Dave stared out at the trees as the woods passed them by.  Soon enough the trees gave way to the edges of towns as they made their way east and then south back home.  “You wouldn’t understand,” Dave said.  “I didn’t expect it to be like that.”

“Like what?”

“They were awful,” he said, hating the way it sounded.  Like he was whining, like he was a weak baby who couldn’t stand up for himself.

“Because you’re gay.”

“Yeah.” Dave felt small and far away.

“I never taught you to give in to bullies.”

“This has nothing to do with _bullies_ , Dad.  I know what teasing feels like.”  He couldn’t explain it, really, just that Dougie’s words weren’t the same kinds of taunts he got for doing well in school or being half-Polish in an Irish neighborhood.  He tried the idea out before he spoke again.  “They hated me.  Or, at least, they hated who they thought I was.”   _Who I **am** , _he reminded himself.   _I’m gay and they hated me for it._ “But I never said anything.  They just started judging me, and I could have stayed and pretended like it didn’t matter, but it _does_ matter, Dad.”

“But why?  Why does it matter?  Why does it have to be the most important thing about you, Davey?  You’re so much more than that one thing.”

Dave thought about Kurt, about the kids he knew at BAGLY.  He’d heard the stories, of course, and sat through the workshops in his group.  He even had one of the cards that sat on the table inside the door at the center, where all the pamphlets and info sheets were.  He’d picked it up without thinking, one day, but somehow the idea of it in his wallet, the knowledge that there _was_ someone to call if things got really bad, it helped.  “I told you you wouldn’t understand,” he told his dad.

His father sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair.  “I’m trying, David.  I’m really trying, but you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

Dave kicked his sneakers off and crossed his legs under him.  “I’m just lucky I have you and mom and Maddie and my friends,” he said finally.  “Lots of kids don’t have that.”   _Come on, Dad; listen to what I’m not saying.  I don’t think I can even get the words out, not without scaring both of us._

“That doesn’t help me.”

“I’m _sorry_.”  Oh, god, he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the tears flowing down his cheeks.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.  I’m sorry I couldn’t just be quiet and forget about that part of me.  But I don’t know _how_ anymore, Dad.  I don’t even remember what it was like to keep that secret.  But I think if I had to do it, if I had to . . .” He trailed off, blood and skin cold with the just the idea of any of it, hiding and what it would do to him.  “If I had to hide like that, I think maybe.  Maybe it would kill me.”

He couldn’t face his father after that.  He kept looking out the window at the city approaching, distorted through his tears.  He pretended he didn’t hear his dad, sniffling through his own tears, or the way his dad’s hand found his and hung on, tight, until they’d pulled into the driveway at home.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“You can’t hide at home for the rest of vacation,” his mother said, tugging open his shades three mornings after he got back.

“Three weeks,” Dave told her, tugging his pillow back over his eyes to block the brightness.  “School starts in three weeks.  There’s nothing to do.”

“Maddie’s been moping around since her program ended.  Go walk down to the pier.  Get some ice cream or go to the beach.”

“I can’t,” he said from under his pillow.

“And why not?”

In his cocoon, Dave’s cheeks burned.  “Because I failed,” he said softly.

“You flailed?” his mother asked, confused.

Dave pulled the pillow off his face.  “I _failed,_ Mom.   _Failed._ ”

She sat next to him, nudging his feet out of the way.  “What on earth makes you think you failed at anything?”

“Because I couldn’t stay at camp,” he said after a long moment.  “I couldn’t just ignore stupid Dougie Nelson.  I couldn’t hide.”   _I let him get to me and I couldn’t be the bigger man.  I couldn’t do what you and dad always taught me.  I couldn’t._

“Oh, honey, nobody asked you to hide.  Your father and I never expected you to do that.”

“But _they_ did, at camp.  Dougie told me I was going to burn in hell, Mom.  I go to church.  I _know_ that isn’t true.”

His mother leaned over and kissed the top of his head.  “You’re right, it’s not true.  God created all of us in his image.  You’ve got nothing to worry about.  Now, get up and get dressed and get out of this house.”

Maddie wasn’t home when Dave rang the Gagnon’s doorbell.  Dylan answered, crunching around a handful of Cheetos, and informed Dave that Maddie and their mom had gone school shopping down to the outlets in Wrentham.  “I thought you were gone till next week,” Dylan said, holding out his bag of Cheetos.  “Want some?”

“No, thanks,” Dave waved the bag away.  “It’s a long story.  Just – tell her I came by, and I’ll be down on the pier for a while if she wants to get ice cream.

Dylan laughed.  “All day with Mom in the car and trying on clothes? I think she’ll _need_ ice cream by then!”

The pier was crowded with people fishing off the ends, or sitting on the long low benches eating hot dogs and ice cream from the vendor carts that dotted the beach and surrounding sidewalks.  Dave found a spot that was semi-shaded by the massive umbrella from a frozen lemonade cart, sat, and opened his book.   _TJ’s_ book, actually, that he’d told Dave to keep when Dave had sought him out in the Arts & Crafts hut to say goodbye.   _I hope it’s as meaningful for you as it has been for me,_ TJ had said, handing it over openly, no hidden cover.

The spine was broken and the page corners dog-eared.  Dave thumbed the pages, watching them pass, catching glimpses of highlighting, underlining, notes in the margins in lots of different colored pen.  It grew heavier in Dave’s hands when he realized exactly what TJ had given up to him: something he prized and honored so deeply that he couldn’t – _no, wouldn’t_ – hide away.

Dave opened the cover and began.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

He was hot and the back of his neck was sunburned when Maddie found him.  He hadn’t read too far, because he paid extra attention to the marked passages and TJ’s own notes.  He closed the book when she sprawled on the bench next to him.

“Clothes shopping is stupid.  Dylan told me you wanted to get ice cream?”

Dave fished in his pocket and pulled out the money from his mother.  “If we get smalls, we should have enough to share a lemonade.”

“You’re my savior!” she exclaimed, throwing an arm over his shoulders.  “Come on!”

They ate their cones under the pier, balanced on the big rocks there, legs dangling but feet unable to reach the water.  “You really got kicked out for fighting?” Maddie asked.

“Sort of?  But not really?  I mean, yeah, I ended up in the director’s office for fighting, but I just couldn’t stay there, Mads.”

“Why not?”

“Did you know they don’t allow gay people in Scouts?”

Maddie shook her head.  “No.  Who told you that?”

“One of the counselors there.  He’s in the closet.  I couldn’t _do_ that.”

Maddie rested her hand on his and squeezed gently.  “I think that’s okay.  Didn’t you tell me that everyone gets to decide for themselves who to tell and when to tell them?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s _his_ choice.  It might not be the right choice for you, but you shouldn’t judge him because of it.”

“I don’t!”

“Really?”

“Really,” Dave insisted.  “I _know_ it’s his choice, and that it’s just as right as my decision to leave.  I’m just . . . sad, I guess.  I used to _love_ Scouts.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

“I don’t know?”  Sometimes Dave hated the ways that Maddie always knew to ask uncomfortable questions.  “I guess I still do, but I don’t know how to love something that hates me.  I mean, if I keep doing it, does that mean that I _believe_ what they think about me?  Does it mean that I have to hide that part of me?”

Maddie launched herself off the rocks, landing with a wet _thunk_ in the sand.  “C’mon, tide’s going out.  We should go look for horseshoe crabs.”

Dave shivered.  “Horseshoe crabs are _gross_.  They’re like, weird spawn of jellyfish and dinosaurs.”

Maddie’s eyes were bright in the light seeping through the slats of the pier.  “Oh, _jellyfish_!”

Dave shivered again.  “Ew.”

“One time, I _poked_ a jellyfish with a _stick_!”  Maddie bounced up and down, her sneakers making a squelching sound in the wet sand.  “It was _awesome_!”

“Oh my _god_!” Dave wailed.  “You are disgusting.  What are you, a four year old boy?”

“Maybe,” Maddie whined at him.  “Come on!  Let’s go!”

Dave slid more carefully down the rocks than she had.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t even _eat_ fish.  Well, the seven fishes at Christmas, but that doesn’t count because my Nana cooks the cod until its dead three times over.”

“I like them.  Fish and bugs and _oh_!  Did I tell you about the bunnies I found?”

“Bunnies are cute.  They’re soft.  They don’t have see-through bodies or weird armor.”

“Fine.”  Maddie fake-stomped up the beach.  “I’ll look for horseshoe crabs and you can look for _sea glass_ ,” she teased.

But sea glass made Dave think of Kurt.  He followed after Maddie, suddenly determined to find a nice smooth green piece to send to his friend, a substitute for the unfinished clay box abandoned at camp.  Sea glass would be better; _a little piece of the ocean,_ Dave thought.   _Something to remind him he’s not alone._

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Fall 2007**

Kurt was happy to be the first one home; it meant he could get upstairs and out of his torn and dirt-covered clothes before anyone else saw him.  There wasn’t much he could do about the gash on his forehead other than clean it and hope it wasn’t as deep as it looked.  That way, he could pass it off as another moment of clumsiness or a lack of awareness of the world around him.  Regardless, it would be easier than making up a story to explain the broken elbow.

By the time Carole called everyone to dinner, the butterfly bandages had closed the cut enough that it looked pretty minor, and Kurt was comfortable in his sweatpants and t-shirt.  The ruined clothes were under his bed waiting to be taken out on trash night.  He tugged the sticky strips off his forehead and put on his _nothing is wrong_ face.  “Oh, are we having shepherd’s pie tonight?” he asked, scraping his chair back before settling into it.  Finn was at the counter pouring juice for them both, and when he turned to put the bottle back in the fridge, Kurt was shocked to see his lip swollen and his cheekbone bruised and cut.  

“What happened to _you_ , Finn?”

Finn shrugged, kicking the door closed with one socked foot.  “Guess I forgot to tighten the strap on my helmet during practice.  Some little 7th grader made it through the O-line and sacked me.  Dude is tiny but _man_ can he hit.  My helmet fell off, and I kinda ate the field.”  He set Kurt’s glass in front of him and caught his eye, winking.

Kurt stuttered for a second before catching on.  “Oh.  That sounds painful.”

“Yeah, well,” Finn said with another shrug.  “Next play, the kid got laid out flat trying to get through, so.  Karma.  That’s a thing, right?”

Kurt snorted.  “Yes, Finn.  Karma’s a thing.”

Kurt was thankful for Finn’s injuries because they kept the focus off his own, though his dad did ask him about the cut while they were cleaning the kitchen after dinner.

“Yeah,” his dad said when Kurt related his practiced tale about conking his forehead on someone else’s’ open gym locker.  “Those little square ones in the locker room were deadly when I was at North, too.  One kid I knew, he caught his arm one time, scraped it so bad he needed stitches.”

Kurt reached up to put the last dish away, and then took his damp dish towel into the laundry room.  “I guess I should be lucky, then, huh?”

His dad looked at him weirdly.  “Yeah.  I guess.  Lucky.”  He took his ball cap off and rubbed the top of his head.  “Listen, Kurt.  You’d tell me, right, if things were bad for you at school, wouldn’t you?”

Kurt couldn’t make himself look at his dad.  Instead, he stared at floor and counted the little blue squares that zig-zagged through the mostly white linoleum.  “Yeah, Dad.”

His dad sighed.  “And you know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Kurt nodded.  He tried to say yes, but he was too old to cry in front of his dad and the only thing keeping the tears in were his words.

“Okay.  Just- Kurt.  Look at me.”

Kurt lifted his eyes reluctantly, praying that his dad couldn’t tell how close he was to crying.

His dad stared at him, hard.  “Please, kid, just don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt whispered, even though he wasn’t entirely sure just what his dad was asking.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Kurt threw Finn’s door open without knocking.  “You’re getting better,” he said.

“Better at what?”  Finn erased something furiously, attention focused on the homework on front of him.

“Lying.  There’s no _way_ a seventh grader made it through the O-line, never mind managed to tackle you.  You’re _Finn_ Hud _son_ and all the girls in school want you to ask them to the fall dance.”

“I thought it gave the story something.”

Kurt sat backwards in Finn’s desk chair, setting his chin on his forearms.  “How did you even know?  You don’t run even close to that crowd.”

Finn was silent for a long minute.  “Puck,” he finally said.   “He thinks that if he turns into a punk or something then people will leave him alone about his dad running off with the dry cleaner’s wife.  He heard them bragging about it.”

“You don’t have to protect me, Finn.”

“Uh huh.  Because you’re doing so great at protecting yourself.”

“I just keep thinking that if I ignore them then they’ll stop.”

“Dude.” Finn threw his pencil down and pushed himself up to sitting.  “If they were gonna stop they’d’ve done it when they broke your freaking elbow.”

“That wasn’t- it wasn’t- it wasn’t _them_.  I mean, it was, but not _these_ thems.  They were eighth graders, then.”

“Why can’t you let me help you?” Finn asked.  “I mean, I know we’re not real brothers or anything, but it sure _feels_ like we’re real brothers.  And you never let _anyone_ get close to you at school.  Someone needs to look out for you.”

Kurt wanted to throw the kind of tantrum he remembered having as a small child, complete with stomping his feet and kicking someone or something.  “Because,” he said, teeth gritted tightly, “if I let you fight them for me then I’m giving up.”

Finn’s eyes went squinty.  “How?  That makes no sense.  Asking for help isn’t giving up.”

“I don’t _need_ help, Finn.  I don’t need it and I never asked for it, and I don’t _want_ it.  I’m going to survive this town and its stupid homophobes and I’m going to do it myself.   _Me_.”

“Not if they kill you first.”

“They’re not going to kill me.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Finn cried, face red and fists clenched tightly.  “It happened to that kid, in that movie you and Dave made me watch.  And I’m not _stupid_ , Kurt.  I _read_ and I listen to things and I _know_ what it’s like for you.  I’m in that school too.  I see how they treat you and hear how they talk.”

“You _don’t_ know what it’s like, Finn.  You _can’t_.  You can’t know because you’re straight and popular and the star quarterback.  You don’t know what it feels like in _here_ , when they say those things _._ ” Kurt pressed a hand to his heart.  “Nobody understands.”   _Not even Dave, really_ , Kurt thought.   _He’s a golden boy just like Finn and I’m never going to be anything._

“So freaking talk to me, or to Burt or mom.”

“No.”  Kurt backed toward the door, reaching blindly for the knob.  “I can’t.  They can’t know.”

Finn tipped his head sideways.  “You really think they _don’t_ already know?”

“God, Finn, _everyone_ knows.  Or think they know.  It’s supposed to be my choice.   _That’s_ what nobody gets.  It’s supposed to be _my_ stupid choice to tell who I want when I want, and you all are taking that away from me.  I’ve _never_ had that choice.”  He escaped into the hall and ran to his own room, slamming the door behind him.  He heard Finn’s voice trailing up the hall, bewildered, and then the answering slam of Finn’s own door rattled the walls.

Kurt lay face down on his bed, listening to his clock tick down the seconds.  He figured someone would be at his door in less than ten, but it took a full minute for two sets of feet to climb the stairs.  The heavier pair, his dad’s, paused outside of Finn’s door and Carole’s came to rest outside of his own.  Her knock was gentle, as was her _Kurt_ through the wood.

“It’s open,” he said softly.

“Honey, what happened?  We heard yelling.”

“It’s fine, Carole.  Finn and I just had a disagreement.”

The bed shifted as Carole sat.  “I know disagreements, and that was more like a war.”

“Really.  It was nothing.  We fixed it.”

“Uh huh.  And the door slamming?”

“I was making a point.”

“I’m sure.” Carole wasn’t sarcastic too often, and it startled Kurt enough that he laughed.

“It’s good to hear you laugh, Kurt.  You don’t do it enough lately.”

“It’s just school.  Kids are stupid.  And teachers.  It’s all stupid.”

She rubbed circles on his back.  Her hand was warm through the cotton of his t-shirt.  “I know.  And I know your dad wishes that you’d talk to him, but I think I understand why you won’t.”

Kurt blinked and sniffled into his pillow.  “You do?”

“Your dad doesn’t like to ask for help either, and he doesn’t like people to see him hurting.  The only thing he hates more is seeing _you_ hurting.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, wishing he could curl up and be small.  “I don’t want to make anyone upset.  I just want it to stop.   It never _stops_.”  There was no use fighting the tears, then.  Carole just kept rubbing his back, slow and steady and whispering _shhhh shhhhh_ the same way he liked to imagine his mother had done when he was a baby, and Kurt cried into his pillow until he fell asleep.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Saturday morning Kurt was raking the first of the fall leaves when the mailman brought the mail to the door instead of leaving it in the box by the street.  “Too big for the box,” he said, handing the pile over to Kurt.  Kurt tugged his work gloves off and sat on the porch steps to sort through it.  Two bills, one for electric and the other for water, for his dad.  A dentist’s reminder card for Carole.  A tri-folded flier for Finn from the rec department about winter basketball.  And at the bottom of it all, a padded envelope for Kurt with a Boston postmark.   _Dave_.

Kurt tore eagerly into the package.  He didn’t get a lot of mail.   _Any_ mail, really, not counting the birthday card that came each May, carefully addressed in his Great Aunt Mildred’s spidery script with a crisp $100 bill tucked inside, for _my favorite nephew_.  Her only nephew.

Tissue paper was wrapped around a bundle of something soft, though when he unrolled the paper he heard something clinking, too.  The soft thing proved to be a purple t-shirt with a bundle of rainbow-colored balloons on the front.  The back bore the logo of Dave’s youth group that he talked about so much.  And wrapped inside the t-shirt was a plastic baggie with three chunks of smooth, worn glass.  One was pale green, the second was a clear amber-brown, and the third and biggest was a startling deep blue.  When Kurt picked up the envelope, a piece of paper fluttered out, notebook paper and blue pen telling Kurt _I found these on the beach with Maddie.  I figured you’d like the green one best, but the blue ones are kind of rare and hard to find.  I got lucky.  And I know you probably won’t wear the shirt, but I wanted to remind you that you’re not alone.  Email soon.  –Dave._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave waited anxiously for an email from Kurt, or even a letter back, but after two weeks he gave up.  He complained to Maddie about it while they walked from the T to school.  “I just don’t understand,” he said, hitching his backpack a little higher onto his shoulder.  “I thought we were friends.”

Maddie scuffed ahead of him through the leaves, sending up dust in her wake.  “Well, I thought _we_ were friends, too.  But I didn’t even get a postcard or anything, the whole summer.”

“Huh?”  Dave didn’t understand.

“You kind of suck at being a friend, Dave.  Like you can’t pay attention to more than one person at a time.  And this summer, you had Kurt, so I guess I want to know if you even still want me to be your friend.”

“I don’t understand.”

She stopped, wheeled around, and stared at him, hands on her hips.  “Stop thinking and freaking _listen_.   Last year I was your best friend.  Now you have _Kurt_.” She spits his name like she swallowed something bitter.  “ _Kurt understands_ , _Kurt gets it_ , just because he’s gay too.  That didn’t used to matter.”

“It still doesn’t,” Dave said.  “It doesn’t matter.  You’re still my best friend, Mads.”

“ _Still_.  Is that supposed to be some kind of consolation?  Because it’s not.  I feel like I’m your last choice, Davey.  I don’t want to be your last choice.  I know it’s stupid, but you were my friend first.  I was the first person you told.  That meant a lot to me.  It was special, just for us.  But I can’t be what Kurt is for you.”

Dave closed the distance between them, taking her hand in his.  “I don’t want you to be what Kurt is; I want to be what _you_ are.”  He tugged her arm, urging her up the street with him.  “You’re the one who convinced me to try theater.  You’re my study buddy and my best friend.  And, you know, we’re cousins, so that’s cool.”

“Not blood cousins.”

Dave shrugged under the weight of his backpack.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’s better that way.  Like, we’re _choosing_ each other to be related to.”  It made sense to him at least.  It was like the way that Finn and Kurt chose to be brothers even though they’d already been in middle school when their parents got married.   _We’re not stuck with each other, which is what everyone thinks,_ Kurt told him one day at rehearsal, the two of them in the back row with their feet on the seats in front of them, sharing a Coke and a sleeve of Oreos.   _We’re brothers because we want to be.  We could ignore each other more easily.  But choosing each other, that means we have to work at it._

“That might be the weirdest thing I’ve heard you say, but it makes sense, sort of?”

“I know.  Look,” he said, breathing in deep as they passed (coffee shop), coffee and chocolate and cream, “it’s not like there’s a degree of friendness.  You know what it’s like being from Southie, and that matters more to me than whether you’re gay or not.”

“I might be,” Maddie said under her breath.

“No you’re not,” Dave replied automatically, and then stopped in his tracks.  “I’m sorry,” he said when his brain caught up with itself.  “Talk to me.”

Maddie powered on ahead of him.  “We’re going to be late, and considering I can barely get here on time on a regular morning I _don’t_ need to be hit with morning detention.”

“Madeleine Grace Gagnon, you’re not getting away with telling me something like _that_ and then walking away.”

She turned to face him, but kept walking backwards, letting the crowd of kids heading into school swallow her.  “Not everything is about you, David Allan Karofsky.”

She turned around again, and then she was gone.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

She was clearly avoiding him.  Their only shared class was Chinese I, because apparently they both loved slow death by foreign language, but she pointedly sat across the room from him and paired up with Lainey Newborn for conversation practice.  He saw her at lunch, sitting alone with a book open in front of her, but when he approached she shot him a death glare and he backed away, heading over to sit with a couple of the 9th graders from theater who had the same lunch.

He finally just waited by her locker.

“You didn’t even _listen_ to what I told you!” she said as she approached from the other end of the hall.

“I’m sorry, okay?  I didn’t mean it, I was just surprised.”

“Uh huh.”

“What makes you think you’re . . . you know?”

“What makes _you_ think I’m not?” she shot back.  “And since when do you avoid saying it?”

Dave dropped his head back against the lockers and felt the metal vibrate against his back.  “I don’t.  I just didn’t think you’d want me to announce to the whole school when you’re not sure.”

“How considerate of you.”  She rolled her eyes at him while she worked the combination on her lock.  “Do you really want to hear about it, or are you just being nice?”

“Asks the girl who practically dragged me out of the closet.  Come on.  Nobody’s home at my house.  We can talk there.”

Dave’s house was, as promised, empty.  He and Maddie worked together in the kitchen fixing a snack; they stood side by side at the stove, Maddie stirring a pan of hot chocolate and Dave making grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches.  They ate at the table, and between bites Maddie told Dave about a girl she’d met at her summer dance program, older.  Maddie blushed hot pink when she said it.  “I’m not sure if I have a crush on her or on her talent.  She was so amazing!”

Dave nodded.  “Maybe a little bit of both?”

Maddie giggled.  “Yeah, maybe.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised.

“I know,” she said.  “But I’m not sure that it matters, really? I guess I don’t really care if anyone knows.  I’m not a hundred percent sure myself.  I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not completely straight, but I don’t know what I _am_?”

“Do you need to decide today?  Because I got _A Chorus Line_ from the library and you’re going to love it.  Talk about having a crush on talent.  The woman who plays Cassie is _so_ good.”

“More hot chocolate first?”

“I’ll bring the whipped cream!”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave wasn’t quite sure where the school year had gone, when he and Maddie walked home from the T on the last day.  “Wasn’t it just September?” he asked, feeling suddenly adventurous and dragging her off their normal route toward the Friendly’s.

She held up her hand and ticked things off on her fingers.  “Fall play, freaking _Chinese_ , the musical, my dance classes, your speech and debate.  Dylan’s hockey, all that _snow_ , oh my god Dave.  I don’t even know!”

They walked up to the take-out window and ordered.  “I’m sorry I won’t be here this summer,” he said, softly.

“Don’t be.”  Maddie whipped out her wallet and handed a ten to the server.  “Because I have good news!  I won’t be stuck in Southie without you!”

“Really?”

“Really,” Maddie said with a nod.  “Mr. Fitzgerald wrote me a recommendation and helped me put my audition tape together, and I got the letter last week that I not only got _in_ but I also got a _scholarship_!”

“To where?”

Maddie smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand.  “Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  Walnut Hill.”

All of the theater mad kids they knew talked about it like it was nirvana, in the same breath they used for French Woods and Stagedoor Manor and Interlochen; five weeks away from home, everyone cast in one play and two musicals, voice and dance lessons, audition prep and acting class.

Dave wrapped her in a big hug, careful not to smear his ice cream cone in her hair.  “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were applying!” he said, almost-squealing but trying hard not to.

“I didn’t want to jinx it.  I figured it was a long shot.  I can’t believe I actually got in.  I leave on Sunday.”

“I’m kind of bummed I don’t get to go with you,” he said, opening the door and letting them back into the late-June sunshine.

“No you’re not,” Maddie replied, nudging him with her hip.  “You’re going to Ohio to be amazing there and to see _Ku-urt_ ,” she sing-songed.

“Stop teasing and eat your ice cream.”

“You know you love me!” she exclaimed, skipping backwards down the sidewalk ahead of him.

“Yeah,” he said, licking the drips off his cone and watching her dance on, alone.  “I do.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Summer 2008**

Dave followed his grandfather into the house and was surprised to see Kurt at the kitchen table, a glass of lemonade in front of him, working the crossword from the morning newspaper with Dave’s grandmother.

“Someone is excited to see you,” his grandmother said with a wink.

“Oh, jeez.  This again?  It’s not like that, Grandma.  Kurt and I are just friends.”

“ _Best_ friends,” Kurt said, standing and holding out a hand for Dave’s backpack.  “Let me help.  I’ve been _dying_ to tell you all the news.  The show this summer is going to be amazing!”

Kurt’s visit turned into an invitation to all the Karofskys to cook out at Kurt’s house.  The grownups socialized while Dave and Kurt talked about audition songs.  Finn kept throwing a football through a tire tied to a tree, and Puck sat sullenly up in the tree house, occasionally calling down instructions to Finn for getting his spiral tighter.

“What’s he doing here?” Dave asked softly while he was doctoring his hamburger bun.  “He looks miserable.”

“He pretty much is.  His dad took off a couple of years back, and he’s got this little sister, she’s four.  Anyway, his mom is having some kind of trouble and one of his grandmothers is keeping Leah, but said that Puck was too much of a _discipline problem_.  He and Finn are just as much brothers as Finn and I are, so it’s no big deal, having him here.  He’s going to do crew with Finn this summer.  I think you’ll like Puck; he’s a good guy underneath.  He just wants everyone to _think_ he’s trouble so they don’t get to close.”

“He told you that?”  Dave was shocked.  Puck didn’t seem like a talking kind of guy.

Kurt stared at him over the ketchup like he was stupid.  “I spend a lot of time watching people.  It wasn’t hard to figure him out.”

Dave watched Puck while they ate.  He was quietly respectful to Dave’s grandparents and Burt and Carole, and he picked on Finn the same way Kurt did, the same way Finn did back to all of them.  Dave had never really been lonely as an only child, especially not after watching Maddie and Dylan fight like crazy, but being around the Hudson-Hummels made him feel a lot like he was missing out on something.

“You know, I’ve heard things about that Puckerman boy,” his grandmother said when they were on their own porch, much later.  “All kinds of trouble in that family, and his father leaving without a word.  But he was lovely this evening.”

“I met him last summer,” Dave said.  “Kurt thinks he just doesn’t want people to get too close.”

“Kurt, he’s a wise one.  You make sure to keep him around, Davey, okay?”

Dave wasn’t sure he understood exactly what his grandmother meant, but he nodded anyway.  “Okay, Grandma.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“Where’s Maisie?” Dave asked, setting his backpack at his feet and settling into the seat next to Kurt in the third row of the auditorium.

“No idea,” Kurt whispered back.

There were an awful lot of older kids crowding the back rows of seats, all of them with large coffee drinks and loud voices.  “There weren’t that many high school kids last year.”

“I heard that the summer theater institute at Carmel got kicked out of the auditorium because Vocal Adrenaline needed it for practice, and it was too late for them to book another place.  I guess a lot of those kids are here instead.”

“Good morning!” A man’s voice boomed.  He crossed the stage with purpose and sat cross-legged right in front of the footlights.  “For you veterans wondering where Maisie is, she’s on bed rest with twins.  I’m Jordan Feeney, and I’ll be running the shows this summer.

“Shows?” A dark-haired girl in the front row asked.  “As in, multiple shows?  Because I thought there was only one production a summer.”

“In the past, yes, that’s true.  But we’re trying something new this year.  The summer theater institute in Akron has been cancelled this year due to conflicts over space, so in order to make sure everyone gets a fair chance to perform, we’re going to run two shows.  The first, for our Junior Players, who are those of you entering 7th-9th grades, is a musical version of _Romeo and Juliet_.  The second, for the Senior Players, is _Anything Goes_.”

The dark haired girl raised her hand again.  “Shouldn’t the auditions be open to everyone and then whoever is best for each part is cast, instead of limiting us by our ages?  My talent is older than I am, and I’d be perfect for Reno Sweeny.  Though I _was_ practically born to play Maria, too.”

“Not _West Side Story,”_ Jordan said.  “A musical version of _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“There’s no singing in Shakespeare!” she insisted and Dave laughed.

“Clearly she hasn’t heard about _Midsummer_!”

Kurt sang lightly under his breath.  “Never was there ever a fairer king!”

“Duuuuke _,”_ Dave intoned, picking up the line from last summer’s Shakespeare musical.

“Ah, but there _is_ singing in Shakespeare,” Jordan explained.  “At least there is when it’s turned into a musical.”

The girl sat back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her with an indignant huff.  “Amateurs,” she mumbled loud enough for the first few rows to hear.  “Musical Shakespeare.”

“Can I stab her with an xacto knife?” Finn asked from Kurt’s right side.

“I  have a pencil!” Dave offered, brandishing the stubby Patriots pencil he’d gotten in his trick or treat bag on Halloween.

“Who even _is_ she? Kurt wondered.  “She’s annoying as hell and I don’t even know her.”

‘I don’t _want_ to know her.”  Finn leaned back in his seat and Dave tucked his pencil behind his ear.  “”At least she’s not working on crew.”

“She goes to my temple,” Puck piped up from Finn’s other side.  “She’s new-ish.  Didn’t do her Bat Mitzvah here, and I never saw her in Hebrew school.  And I don’t think she goes to public school.  Maybe to that Jewish school down in Dayton?  But yeah, she’s annoying.  And her two dads aren’t any better.”  Puck paused, looking hard at Kurt and Dave.  “Sorry, dudes.  It’s not that they’re, you know.  I don’t care about that.  They’re just . . . weird?  Annoying?”  He shrugged, giving up on finding the right words.  “All of the above, I guess.  She’s like their little princess or something.”

“Good to know.”  Dave figured he’d steer well clear of the girl; he didn’t need that kind of drama in his life, he had enough going on already.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave was cast as Juliet's father, he figured because he was bigger than the other guys and it wasn't a song _or_ dance-heavy part.  Kurt turned out to be agile in a way that made him perfect for Tybalt.  To Jordan’s pleasure, Kurt was a quick study with the sword, and he spent a lot of time in the lobby practicing against a sturdy wooden blade that Dave held with both hands.  The annoying girl, whose name was Rachel, was _not_ Juliet, but a new kid was cast as Romeo.  He was tall, and lankier than Finn, and he danced like Dave had never seen anyone, girl _or_ boy, dance before.

“Talk about having a crush on someone’s talent,” Dave said one day, while they watched from the wings as Mike twirled his Juliet around the stage in time to a waltz..

“You have a crush on Jane’s talent?”  Kurt wrinkled his nose.  “She’s _twelve_.”

“Not Jane.  Mike.  I have a crush on _Mike’s_ talent.”

“That’s a thing?”

Dave laughed and tried to explain.  “It’s a thing Maddie said, once.  She didn’t know if she had a crush on this girl or on her talent.”

“Oh-kay.  You know you guys are weird, right?”

“No weirder than you and Finn.”  Dave nodded toward the backstage shop area, obscured by a plain gray backdrop.  “How’s Puck?  He hardly says two words to me.”

“He hardly says two words to anybody.  He was supposed to be home by now, but nobody’s heard from his mom.  And his grandmother doesn’t want to let him see his sister, even though he hasn’t been in trouble the entire time he’s stayed with us.”

“That really sucks.  I can’t imagine what it would be like, not being able to live at home.”

Kurt shivered next to him.  “Yeah,” he said, soft and scared-sounding.  “I mean, I don’t think my dad would--- it wouldn’t be a problem, if I told him, but it’s still scary sometimes, you know?  Like, I know he’d be okay, but I can’t help being afraid anyway.”

“I know.”

Kurt stared at Dave a little too hard for Dave’s comfort.  “Do you really?”

Dave sunk down in his chair.  “My family is _Catholic_ , Kurt.  Like, _really_ Catholic.   _Of course_ I know.”

“I’m sorry.”  Kurt sunk, too, and wrapped himself in his ever-present hoodie.  “My dad keeps saying I’m too sensitive lately.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Dave touched his knee to the side of Kurt’s leg and pretended he didn’t feel Kurt flinch away.  “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not, but thank you anyway.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Kurt stretched out on his back, staring up at where he and Finn had stuck glow in the dark stars when they’d first moved into the house after the wedding.  They were hard to see in the light, just odd little yellow blobs against the white paint.  He felt like that, sometimes, just a blob in the universe that didn’t really come into focus except in the dark.

His door squeaked.  He’d left it open an inch, mostly so he could eavesdrop on what Finn and Puck were talking about, but it left him immune to the knocking on closed doors rule.

“Hey, honey,” Carole said, peeking her head around the door.  “You didn’t have a snack when you got home.  Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said to the ceiling.”

“Okay.  Dinner will be at six.  Your dad is working late, so it’s just the three of us.”

“Okay.”

His door squeaked again, and he waited for Carole’s footsteps to disappear up the hall, but they didn’t.  “Carole?” he called out, softly.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Carole bustled into his room and pulled the door gently shut behind her.  “Always.  What’s going on?”

“I was really awful to Dave today.  I accused him of not understanding my being scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You know about Dave, right?  That he’s—” He couldn’t look at Carole; he kept staring at the stars, mapping the rudimentary Big Dipper Finn had made, but he felt Carole’s whole body stifle a little laugh.

“I know that Dave is gay, yes.”

“You talk about us.  Of course you do.”

“Not really.  Lara was telling me all about Dave’s activities during the school year and she mentioned the group he goes to.”

“Dave and his _group_ ,” Kurt mumbled.

“Do you- do you wish you could be part of something like that?  Is that why you were mad at Dave today, you’re jealous?”

Kurt could tell Carole was choosing her words carefully. He tried to do the same, but once he started talking he couldn’t control the thoughts that came flooding out of his mouth, like they had been released from behind a dam.  “I’m not _jealous_ , I just hate that he doesn’t really get what it’s like to be afraid to tell the truth.  He said he does know, but he lives in a _city_ and it’s different there.  He doesn’t know what it’s like living here.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose your family.  It happened once, and I can’t let it happen again.  I can’t, Carole.  If my dad- if I tell him, what if it changes _everything_?”

He turned over on his side, away from her, practically yelling at his window and struggling to breathe through his tears.  “It’s going to change everything.”

After so many years in his life, Carole knew how to comfort him; a hand on his shoulder, firm, and her voice gentle, soothing.  “Kurt, honey.  Your father just wants you to be happy.  So do I.  Who you are would never change that.”

“Even if I told Dave and Finn first?”

“Even then.  We both understand.  Sometimes it’s easier to talk to your friends first.  I know it’s hard to talk to parents sometimes.  But you don’t have to be scared.  You can talk to us, both of us.”

“I should tell Dad first,” Kurt said, finally, once his cheeks were dry but stiff.

“Want me to send him up when he gets home?”

“Please.”

She tugged his soft blue throw blanket up over him and left.  Only once she’d gone downstairs to tend to dinner did Kurt roll back over to stare at the ceiling some more.

The stars were just starting to glow green when his dad knocked, startling Kurt from his half-asleep haze.

“Carole said you needed to talk.  Everything okay, kiddo?”

Kurt sat up, tucking his legs under him and picking at a thread on his blanket.  “You probably know already.  It seems like everyone else knows, I kind of can’t believe you don’t, and even if you _do_ it’s still my right to tell who I want when I want.”

“Okay.”  His dad leaned against the closed door, took his cap off, and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “I’m all ears.”

“I’m gay, Dad.”

His dad chuffed out a rough laugh.  “Jesus, Kurt, way to dive right in.”

“You knew.”  Kurt stared and tried not to sulk.  “How long?”

His dad smiled and shook his head.  “Is it stereotypical to say that I’ve known practically since you were born?  I just- had an idea.  Your mom, too.  We talked about it a lot, especially once she- well.  She wanted to make sure that I wasn’t gonna make you change, or whatever.  She gave me a good talking to, the day I picked you up at nursery school and you were dressed up like one of those Disney princesses.  Your mom, she was always a lot smarter than me, and I’ve worked hard since she’s been gone to do right by you, Kurt.”

“You’ve done fine, Dad.”

“If I’d done fine, I’d’ve made a stink when those assholes broke your elbow.  I’ve done what you’ve let me do, Kurt.  I didn’t want to push you, and I know sometimes kids start to question things around your age.  Maybe your mom and I were wrong, you know?”

“No.  You guys were right.”

“Clearly.”

“So we’re okay?”

His dad pushed off from the door and sat on the edge of Kurt’s bed.  He pulled Kurt into a hug.  "We're just fine.  Always."  Kurt breathed in the familiar comforting scent of his dad’s aftershave underneath metal and oil and rubber.  “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Kurt.  Carole said you didn’t eat.  Do you want me to fix you some toast?”

“With extra cinnamon sugar?”

“You bet.”

Kurt snuggled back down under his covers, watching his dad go.  He stopped, though, before he got all the way into the hall.  “Kurt.”

“Yeah?”

“Door open when Dave comes over from now on.”

“Oh my _god_ , Dad!  We’re just _friends_.”

His dad’s footsteps were heavy, but Kurt could hear him mumbling over them.   _Just friends.  Fourteen.  No such damn thing at fourteen._

Even though nobody was there to see it, Kurt buried his face under the blankets to hide the blush that burned his face.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said the next morning, climbing the steps to the Karofsky’s porch.  Dave was sitting on the swing reading.  Kurt dropped next to him and slid a waxy bag across the space between them.  “I come bearing peace and a jelly donut.”

“Apology accepted.”  Dave took the bag and turned a page without even looking at Kurt.

“That’s it?  That’s all I get?”

“I can’t convince you that I get it, but I’m not lying.  I wouldn’t do that to you, Kurt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I just- I overreacted.  I talked with Carole last night, and I told my dad.”

“What, that we had a fight?”

“No, idiot.”  Kurt kicked Dave’s calf with his heel.  “That I’m gay.”

“That’s good.”  Dave turned another page.  “I’m glad.  It hurt to see you keeping that from him.”

Kurt reached over and snatched Dave’s book from him.  “Who are you and what have you done with Dave?  Why the silent routine?”

“I talked to my mom this morning, and I’m not going to be home in time to see Maddie’s shows at her program.  I promised her I’d be there, but I’d have to miss our performance, and she’s already weird about me choosing you over her.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Actually, it kind of does.  But I’m not _choosing_ , I’ve just made the commitment to do _Romeo_ and—”

“And nothing.  Maddie will understand because she knows you, and she knows theater.”  Kurt dropped Dave’s book onto the swing and held out his hand.  “Come on.  I told Jordan I’d help you with your dancing.”

“No.” Dave’s eyes darted around, taking in the Hamilton brothers playing basketball in their driveway and Mrs. Keene weeding her garden and Amy Francis riding her trike in the cul-de-sac.  “Not _here!_ ”

“Oh yes, here.  Come on.”  Kurt pulled him down into the dew-damp grass and got them into position to waltz.  He hummed the opening bars of the (someone) waltz they danced to onstage and led Dave into the dance.

Kurt caught Mrs. Karofsky’s eye as they danced on the lawn, but he didn’t see the way his dad and Carole were also watching from their kitchen.  He just closed his eyes and danced, and for the first time in maybe his entire life, he didn’t care what anyone else thought.

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Fall 2008**

Sent: September 15, 2008, 6:18 pm

From: dkarofsky12@bostonlatin.edu

To: kurt.hummel@lcs-mckinley.edu

Hi Kurt-

I hope the school year has started off okay for you.  Is McKinley a lot bigger than Lima North?  It’s interesting being in Year IV, finally.  We have a lot of our classes with the Beezies, kids who are new to the school this year, but they separate off for Latin I since we’ve been having it since 7th grade.

They just announced the fall play.  It’s going to be Shakespeare, _again_.  The Taming of the Shrew.  I’m so tired of Shakespeare.  Oh, well.  At least this one’s a straight play; no original songs to be heard.  Speech starts up at the end of the month, and I’m finally able to audition for the theater troupe that does competitions.  Will you be doing theater, too?

Write soon.

Dave

Sent: September 23, 2008, 9:29 pm

From: dkarofsky12@bostonlatin.edu

To: kurt.hummel@lcs-mckinley.edu

Kurt-

Just checking to see if you got my last email.  It didn’t bounce back to me, but maybe the internet ate it?  I hope things are good with you.

-Dave

Sent: October 3, 2008, 7:22 pm

From: dkarofsky12@bostonlatin.edu

To: kurt.hummel@lcs-mckinley.edu

Where are you?  Are you okay?  I really hope you haven’t been kidnapped or anything.  Did I say something wrong?

Just let me know you’re not kidnapped, okay?

Kurt stared at the string of unanswered emails from Dave in his inbox and felt sick.  He wanted to answer them, he really did, but it was too hard.  He’d hoped, maybe too optimistically, that high school would be better.  He knew that he’d have protection from Puck and Santana and Brittany, and ready friends in Finn and Mike.  But then the guys had gone out for football and the girls made Cheerios and were suddenly BFFs with Quinn Fabray, who looked at Kurt like he was the gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.  Everything changed, and it was awful.  Worse than he had imagined.  He didn’t know what to say to Dave’s carefree messages, so he said nothing at all.

_DaveyK: Are you really online or are you a ghost?  If you keep ignoring me I’ll sic Santana on you.  You know she carries the wrath of a thousand fiery suns._

Kurt sighed and set his fingers on the keyboard.  He typed and erased three different vapid greetings before settling on hi.

_DramaLlama: Hi._

_DaveyK: That’s all you’ve got?  Nothing since school started and all you can give me is hi?  That’s pretty weak, Kurt._

_DramaLlama: Oh fuck off, Dave.  Not everyone has a pretty perfect life._

_DaveyK: What’s wrong?_

_DramaLlama: What **isn’t** wrong?_

_DaveyK: Jesus, K. Just talk to me.  Do I need to call you?_

_DramaLlama: No.  No, don’t do that._ I don’t think I can say any of these things to you, because I can barely stand to hear them said to me.   _It’ll be better if I type it._

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way he’d read in the pamphlet he’d grabbed from the table outside Miss P’s office: _Your Anxiety and You_.  Some of the stuff about visualization made him feel weird, but the breathing stuff seemed to help, at least most of the time.  He set his hands on the keyboard and ignored the way they were shaking, just like they did when he had too much coffee.

_DramaLlama: School is really bad, Dave.  Really bad._

_DaveyK: Like, teachers bad? Or kids bad?_

Kurt let out a little snort before remembering that Dave couldn’t hear him.

_DramaLlama: Both? I mean, the teachers are idiots and the kids are just . . . I guess I thought that when we got to high school, and there were more kids, it would be better.  Like, there would be someone weirder and more different than me, and maybe I wouldn’t get picked on any more.  But it’s worse, now.  And everyone else is so involved in their new awesome lives, but I’ve got nothing._

_DaveyK: Not even the choir you wanted to join?_

_DramaLlama: Choir is run by this creepy pedophile, Mr. Ryerson.  I can’t even walk in the room, Dave.  The way he looks at me, I just can’t.  And nobody cares.  He runs drama, too.  It’s nothing like I thought._

_DaveyK: I’m sorry.  I wish I could help._

_DramaLlama: Nobody can help._

_DaveyK: Kurt._

_DramaLlama: Dave._

_DaveyK: You’re not, I mean, you’re okay, right?  Like, you’re not thinking_

_DramaLlama: NO!_

Kurt blinked, and was surprised to see the chat window go blurry.  He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

_DramaLlama: My dad’s calling, I have to go._

_DaveyK: Kurt, wait_

Kurt closed out the chat window before he could see any more of what Dave had to say.  He didn’t want Dave’s useless sympathy; it hurt too much to see his friend being happy and secure in his life.  Some days, Kurt felt more adrift now than he did after his mom died, or those first awkward months after his dad and Carole got married, and he had to get used to a stepmom _and_ a brother.  Everyone told him things would get better, that it was just kids being kids.  But he’d been living the taunts and nudges and whispers since kindergarten, and it never got better.

He ignored his computer, the pinging sound that told him Dave was trying to get his attention.  Instead, he crawled under his covers and cried until he fell asleep.

Sent: October 4, 2008, 12:21 am

From: dkarofsky12@bostonlatin.edu

To: kurt.hummel@lcs-mckinley.edu

I didn’t mean to upset you, even though that seems to be a trend with us.  You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, Kurt.  Just please let me know you’re okay, sometimes.

Sent: October 4, 2008, 1:43 pm

From: kurt.hummel@lcs-mckinley.edu

To: dkarofsky12@bostonlatin.edu

Don’t worry, Dave.  I’m not going to do that.

I can’t be the kind of friend you deserve.  You really don’t have to worry about me.

_New text from: Dave_

_Yeah, that didn’t help.  Now I’m more worried._

Kurt sighed and walked carefully through the press of bodies in the crowded hall while he texted Dave back.   _Don’t worry.  Last night was a bad one.  It’s better today._

He reached his locker and muttered _get a room_ to the couple leaning against it, tongues in each other’s mouths.  When they didn’t move he shoved at them with his shoulder and twirled his combination lock.  He offloaded his History book and grabbed his Bio book and lab notebook.  He slammed his locker closed and turned his attention back to his phone.

_New text from Dave: You’re not just saying that so I’ll stop bugging you, are you?_

_No,_ Kurt sent, and shoved his phone into his pocket, then jumped as an arm draped over his shoulders.

“Well look who I found.  It’s Fairy Hummel.  Who’re you texting with, _Fairy_?  Your _boyfriend_?”  Azimio sneered at Kurt, his eyes full of the hate and anger he’d always had toward Kurt, at least since he’d arrived at Independence back in second grade.

Kurt took two of his deep breaths and swallowed hard, the words bubbling up in his throat before he could stop them.  “No,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the din of voices.  “Not my boyfriend.  I was texting with _yours_.”

In his surprise, Azimio dropped his arm and stepped away from Kurt.  Kurt took the opportunity to get away, glad that he was still small and fast.  He ducked around and through the hordes in the hall, running until he reached his Biology classroom.  Mr. Gentry looked at his flushed cheeks and heaving chest with a questioning look, but Kurt worked to steady his breathing while he settled into his seat and by the time the classroom filled Kurt knew that he was safe for the moment, invisible again.

_**Troupe Prepares for competition season, Julia Miller, Boston Globe** _

_Across the state this winter, aspiring teenage actors will be giving up nights and weekends to prepare for the state theater festival.  The first step towards qualifying for the national championships are the District competitions which will be held this weekend.  At Boston Latin, most of the students in the troupe have been working and performing together for years.  Madeline Gagnon and David Karofsky, both 14, are the newest members of the group, but even they are familiar with Coach Erik Fitzgerald's directing style.  “I dragged Dave to tryouts for The Laramie Project when we were 7 th graders,” Madeline said, using a break in rehearsal to multitask, her Latin text open in her lap while we talked.  “We both got parts and that was sort of the end of everything else as a viable activity.  This gets in your bones, you know?”_

_“It’s really different than the stuff I did in elementary school, and more intense than the shows I’ve done in the summers.  We only have half an hour to build the set, perform, and then strike.  I love it, though,” David told me.  “It’s fun to be someone else for a little while.”_

_More information on the weekend's performances can be found on our website._

**Changes Ahead For Allen County Junior Repertory Theater, Aliah Gregg, Allen County Courier**

_Long-time ACJR director Maisie Rollins stepped down permanently from her position this week after missing last season on bed rest with twins.  Ms. Rollins was scheduled to return from her maternity leave at the end of this month, but she submitted her resignation to the Allen County Arts Association instead.  Jordan Feeney, who took over from Ms. Rollins last summer, was appointed to the job permanently._

_“I’m pleased to continue Maisie’s excellent work promoting professional-caliber theater among the youth of Western Ohio.  I’m excited to challenge my actors again this summer.”_

_Students ages 12-14 will perform in the Junior Players production of The Secret Garden; any interested students will be given parts.  This year, for the first time, auditions will be required for the Senior Players production, for students ages 15-18.  “A Chorus Line” is a rigorous show, with no intermission and lots of dancing,” Mr. Feeney said.  “Anyone interested is welcome to audition, but no parts are guaranteed.”_

_Visit www.acjr.org for audition information and requirements._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave’s phone started buzzing in his pocket while the server at Uno’s was setting drinks on the table.  Dave didn’t want to risk a soda on his head by getting up, but he also didn’t want to be rude by checking his messages in the middle of their celebration dinner.  He waited until they’d toasted each other, _on to Nationals!,_ and decimated three baskets of bread, before excusing himself.  Instead of heading to the men’s room, he stepped outside and read his texts shivering under the awning.  The parking lot shimmered under a mist of sleet.

 _Seven New Messages_ , his phone read when he managed to get his thumb across the screen. They were all from Kurt.

_Oh my god, Dave.  Call me!_

_Hello?  You’re like chained to your phone.  CALL ME!_

_Dave?_

_I HAVE NEWS._

_WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?_

_Seriously?_

_Okay.  I guess you don’t want to guess what show the Senior Players are doing this summer._

Dave fumbled his phone open, turning it so he could use the real keyboard instead of the virtual one; it was too freaking cold for that.   _Had state finals today, eating dinner.  Why yes, we did win, thank you very much for the congratulations,_ he typed, and then erased the whole last half of the message.  He sent just _had state finals today, eating dinner._

 _Sorry_.   _But Dave!  You’ll never guess!  I dare you to get it in three._

Dave snorted out a puff of condensation into the air.   _Free to Be, You and Me?_

_Funny.  No._

_The Laramie Project?_ Because he still remembered Kurt’s awe that he’d gotten to be a part of something like that.

_Not risqué enough.  Try again._

_No SHIT!  A CHORUS LINE?!?!?!_

_Ding ding ding.  Call me when you get home and we can talk about it.  According to the paper, we’re actually going to have to audition.  This is going to be the best summer ever._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“Teach me to dance,” Dave said, barging into Maddie’s room without knocking.  Not that she would have heard him anyway, with the _Rent_ soundtrack blaring into the hall.

“Hello, Maddie.  How was church?  Did you need some help with your math?  Why yes, I _do_ need help.  And how are you today?” she deadpanned over Collins singing.   _Let’s open up a restaurant in Santa Fe_.

“They’re doing _A Chorus Line_ this summer and I _have_ to be in it.”

“Your dancing sucks, Davey,” Maddie said with an appraising look.  “And your singing isn’t much better.”

“It’s not my _fault_! Voice changes _suck_.  Girls don't have to deal with that."

"Uh huh.  Because the alternative is _so_ much better?  At least you don't have an alien trying to claw its way out of your abdomen."  She made a face.  "I'd rather have your changing voice and sucky singing."

"Gross.  So teach me to dance and maybe my singing won’t be as much of a problem.”

She clucked her tongue at him.  “You realize I’m going to kick your ass, right?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She smirked at him.  “Good.  So.  There’s something you can help _me_ with, in exchange.”

“Um.  Okay.”  Maddie’s plans were sometimes terrible.  He had good reason to be nervous.

She rummaged around in the top drawer of her dresser and finally lifted a triumphant hand over her head.  “I don’t want to do it myself.”

Clutched in her fist was a plastic bottle that Dave recognized on sight from the time he’d helped Myles touch up his green in the boys’ room at BAGLY one night.  “Oh, shit, Mads.  Is that _orange?”_

 _“_ Yup.  I’m afraid I’ll get it all over my face.”

“You know your mother’s going to kill me, right?”

Maddie tossed him the bottle.  He caught it one-handed.  “More likely she’s going to kill _me_.  Don’t you ever get tired of being you?  Of being good and smart and well-behaved?”

Dave shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I mean, being gay sort of messes that up.  I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am.”

“You’re a liar.”  She pointed at him.  “You’re a lying liar.  You’re no angel and we both know it.  You’re not afraid of who you are and everyone knows it.   _Nobody_ knows about me and it’s making me crazy.”

“Dying your hair orange is going to help with that?”

“I don’t know.  At least it might make me feel less invisible.”

Dave set the bottle down on the corner of her desk.  “Fine. You kick my ass at dance, make me more than two left feet, and I’ll help you.  But you have to come to a BAGLY meeting with me first.  You don’t need to drown yourself like that.  I love you too much to let you do that.”

“Fine.”  Maddie flopped onto her bed and patted the space next to her.  “Come here and listen with me.  It’s almost La Vie Boheme.”

Dave sat.  “La Vie Boheme _is_ the best, isn’t it?”  He knew what she was doing, using the music as an excuse to avoid talking to him.  But he’d done it plenty in the past, and so had Kurt.  He figured it was just how things were, especially when they weren’t clear in your own head.

There was plenty of time for talking later.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Dave cried, staring at the mess in his bathroom.  Orange hair dye was splashed all over the edges of the sink, and Maddie had a huge glob of the stuff on the shoulder of one of Dave’s old t-shirts.  Dave tried to scratch the tip of his nose with his forearm, but only succeeded in rubbing dye from his plastic gloved along his cheek.  “This is _more_ than fair payment for dance lessons.”

Maddie kept her head bent over the sink, letting the ends of her hair drip there instead of all over the floor.  “If you didn’t want to help, you should’ve just said.”

“No, I couldn’t.  You wouldn’t _let_ me say no.  Why do I always listen to you?  You have _terrible_ ideas.”

“Name one.”

Dave stripped off his gloves and gestured at the bathroom, even though she couldn’t see him.  “This!  This is like your worst idea ever.”

“You’ll thank me when you get a part in the show.”

“No, I don’t think I will even then.  I have orange dye on my FACE!”

“And I have it in my hair, so shut up.”

His mother’s egg timer, which was sitting on the back to the toilet, startled them both with a loud trilling sound.  “Okay,” he said, turning on the water and pulling the shower curtain closed.  “In you go.  And try not to splash too much!”

Dave waited several minutes after the water stopped to call into the bathroom.  “How does it look?”

“It’s good,” Maddie said, though she didn’t sound entirely sure.

“Come show me.”  The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam and the smell of shampoo.  It was hard to tell for sure, since her hair was wet, but it looked patchy in places.

“Don’t lie.  It’s awful.”

“No,” Dave reassured her, thinking hard.  “It’s . . . creative.”

“It’s terrible.”  She turned back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“I thought I was helping,” Dave insisted to his father over the white noise of the hockey game.

“It’s fine, son.  Let your mother handle it.”

“I just don’t understand.”

“Well.  I’m guessing that your Maddie is trying to find a way to stand out.  Sometimes those things work out okay and sometimes they’re like this hair thing.  Just wait it out.  She’ll be okay.”

But it wasn’t okay.  As May turned to June, Maddie just pulled further and further away from him.  All of a sudden he didn’t know how to talk to her, and he turned more and more to texting and emailing with Kurt.  It didn’t fill the void left by Maddie’s distance, but it helped when he felt like he couldn’t reach her.

The night before he left for Ohio, he went over to her house, a $10 bill from his allowance burning a hole in his pocket.  He wanted to take her for ice cream, to sit under the pier on their rocks, to talk with her, but she wasn’t there.  Cousin Arlene answered the door, clearly surprised to see him.

“She’s away at camp,” Arlene told him, ushering him onto the porch and pulling the door half-closed behind her.

“That makes no sense,” he said, blinking as a moth dive-bombed him.  “Walnut Hill doesn’t start till next week.”

“Not Walnut Hill,” Arlene said with a sigh.  “She didn’t reapply this year, even though it seemed like they wanted her back.  Outward Bound, and then another wilderness program after that.  I don’t know what’s been going on with my girl,” she said, and Dave looked closely at her for the first time.  Her face was drawn and her eyes were ringed with black circles.  “She just started acting out so much.  Her hair and her attitude and--"  Arlene set her mouth in a grim line.  "Well.  She’s going to be on academic probation in the fall, but at least she gets to stay at Latin with you.  John wants to send her to Ursuline Academy.  He wanted to for seventh grade, but I fought him about it then.  I told him no this time, too.  I think it would just make things worse.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I didn’t help enough.”

“Oh, Davey.”  Arlene hugged him, hard.  “It’s not your job to take care of her.  It’s _my_ job, and I almost didn’t see until it was too late.”

Dave didn’t really understand, but he nodded like he did.  Cousin Arlene’s sadness made him uncomfortable, so he excused himself quickly and trudged home.

He just wanted his friend back.

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Summer 2009**

Even though he only had a background part in the opening section of the show, Dave was exhausted all the time.  When he wasn’t practicing _God I hope I get it_ , which was trickier than it sounded with its layers of harmony, he was in the lobby perfecting dance routines.  Lessons with Maddie had nothing on Barbara the choreographer.

 _I’m always sore,_ he wrote to Maddie in one of the letters he sent twice a week, even though she wouldn’t get them until the end of summer.   _This is harder than anything I’ve ever done, physically, but it’s awesome too, you know?_

Other times he would write during rehearsal once the opening number was over and he got to watch the principals.  He was proud every time he looked at the line and saw Kurt up there, stage left, tap shoes on and ready for _I Can Do That_.  Mike was settling gently into playing Paul, and Dave laughed every time Jordan yelled at Rachel, as Connie, to stop pulling focus.   _Kurt thinks it’s a silly thing to say, but I do have a crush on Mike’s talent.  I wish you could see him dance, Mads.  It’s amazing to watch._

He wrote the last postcard in the chorus dressing room, left smudges of stage makeup along the edges.   _Why didn’t you let me see what was happening, Maddie? I could have helped you.  I miss you._

He tucked the card into his bag and headed up to the wings to warm up with everyone else; he’d send it in the morning.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

_Step kick kick leap kick touch, again!_ The girl playing the choreographer shouted.  Kurt pasted on his show face and began, moving en masse with the other dancers.  At the beginning, it had been hard, learning how to move in unison like that without taking someone out with a stray arm or ill-placed kick.  But six weeks of daily rehearsals left the whole cast a tightly coiled machine of movement.  From his place in the back, Kurt could see Dave up front, throwing himself into the music.  He was never going to be the best dancer in the room, but Kurt could tell from the easy, happy look on his face that he was having the time of his life.

Kurt was, too.  At a break in the dancing, when they were supposed to improvise greeting old friends, Kurt crossed the stage to where Dave was and slung an arm around his shoulder.  “Hi, old friend,” he whispered, and Dave laughed in time to the music.  They stood together until it was their group’s turn to dance the ballet combination, and Kurt moved to his spot in front with confidence.

It was heady, being able to use his body to tell a story that way.  He felt strong now in a way he hadn’t before.  He’d always been a little scared of himself, a little too clumsy sometimes on purpose, because he didn’t want people to look at him and see a gay kid who was _too_ comfortable in his skin.  But finally _finally_ telling his dad had helped more than he’d ever expected.

Mike’s voice rang out, clear and almost confident.   _Who am I anyway?  Am I my resume?  Is this a picture of a person I don’t know?_ The song had always gotten to Kurt, who understood Paul’s yearning to fit in through hiding who he was.

 _People are hard,_ Kurt thought, stepping into his place on the glow-taped line, picture over his face, Mike still singing.   _What does he want from me? What should I try to be? So many faces all around and here we go, I need this job.  Oh god, I need this job._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave waited in the hall outside the principal’s dressing room for Kurt and Mike to emerge.  Both of them carried bouquets of roses, and they each still had smudges of eye makeup on.  “Come on, guys,” he said.  “Finn and Puck are waiting for us.  It wouldn’t be show night if there wasn’t ice cream from DairyFreeze.”

“No parents?” Mike asked cautiously.

Dave hip-checked Kurt.  “Nope.   _Someone_ got his license two weeks ago, and _someone’s_ dad got him a car.”

“Technically he got me a repossessed car at auction and _I_ had to rebuild the engine because the original owner killed it.  But yes.”  Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, dangling them in front of Mike.  “I have a car.”

“Awesome,” Mike breathed.  “I don’t have to tell my parents, do I?  They’re a little overprotective.”

“They’re a _lot_ overprotective,” Kurt said with a snort.  “Did you know,” he said to Dave, “that Mike couldn’t even stay over when the freshman football team had a sleepover?”

Mike ducked his head.  “I’m so embarrassed.”

Dave pushed the stage door open and they trudged out into the humid August night.  Finn and Puck were leaning against Kurt’s SUV.

“C’mon!” Puck slapped the side of the door with his palm.  “I want ice cream, dudes.”

Somehow word had gotten out.  When Kurt pulled into the parking lot at the DairyFreeze, their usual table at the back was full of people.  Santana waved as he climbed down from the passenger seat and called out to them.  “Oh, Dave got shotgun!  Nice ride, Hummel.”

Kurt mock-bowed.  “Thank you, Satan.”

Brittany met them halfway, standing up on her tiptoes to give Dave a peck on his cheek before throwing herself into Kurt’s arms.  “I never see you anymore,” she said to him.

“That’s because Coach Sylvester won’t let you think about anything but Cheerios.  I wish you could’ve done this show with us.  You’re a much better dancer than the girl who played Cassie.”

“It would’ve been nice, all that dancing, but I don’t know about the singing.  Or remembering all those lines.”  She pulled Kurt away, into the half-dark, and pulled him close, the two of them swaying in time to the Beach Boys song playing off in the distance.

“I don’t always understand that,” Puck said, nodding at them.  “I mean, Britt’s sweet and all, but she’s a little weird.”

“Dude.” Finn smacked him on the shoulder.  “We’re all a little weird.”

Mike spun away with one of his fancy ballet turns, and interrupted Kurt and Brittany’s dance.

Puck stared and shrugged.  “Point taken.”

Once everyone was sugared up on ice cream, they took turns doing dance and gymnastics tricks on the grass.  Dave, who didn’t want to go home to Boston with a broken anything, sat on top of the table with Finn and Puck, watching everyone else try to one-up each other.

“It’s too bad you can’t stay here for the school year,” Finn said, clapping when Brittany strung together a series of back handsprings and landed with a straddle jump.  “We’d rule this school.”

Dave snorted.  “I’ve heard stories from Kurt.  Do you really think I’d be welcome at McKinley?  I’m practically a walking ad for Gay Geek Magazine.”

“There’s a Gay Geek Magazine?” Puck sounded intrigued.

“Dumb ass.”  Finn smacked him on the shoulder.  “He’s _kidding_.”  He paused for a moment and then turned to Dave.  “You are kidding, right?”

“Oh my god.  Yes, I’m kidding, and no I don’t want to move to Ohio.  I have friends and obligations back home, and with any luck this year’s fall play won’t be connected to Shakespeare at all.”

Puck patted him on the back.  “Good luck with that, man.  I’m just sorry you won’t be here because Kurt could use a friend.”

 _But I thought you guys were his friends and brothers_ , Dave wanted to ask, only he didn’t know how to without being rude.  And, there were clearly things he didn’t understand about what it was _really_ like for Kurt; no matter how much Kurt told him, there was apparently much much more that he left out.

Back at his grandparents’ house, once he’d said goodnight and washed off the remainder of the stage makeup from around his eyes and his hairline, he took out the postcard he’d started in the dressing room and finished it.   _I’m coming home tomorrow.  I can’t wait to see you.  I hope things are getting better for you.  I miss you.  Love, Dave._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

His mother was strangely silent on the drive home from the airport, so Dave chattered her ear off about learning to dance and how proud he was of his friends for doing so well in the show.  He wanted to know what was going on; there was tension underneath her silence, but he hesitated to ask about it.  Sometimes, he was starting to learn, it was just better not to know.

The yelling started almost as soon as he had escaped to his room.

His parents hardly ever fought, and when they did it was usually about church or Dave’s relationships with his respective grandparents or whether they’d made the right choice allowing him to go to Latin.  He’d never heard them argue like this, wall-shaking and angry footsteps.  He couldn’t make out every word, but the story that began to form in Dave’s head made _him_ angry.

 _It’s not . . . fault_ , _she makes her own choices._

His dad, insistent.   _But maybe John is right, maybe if . . . Maddie . . . wouldn’t . . . home._

 _What do you want me . . . my_ son _. . . unconditionally.  Why . . . you?_

_. . . tried, but I just can’t.  I . . . him, but I . . . understand.  He . . . stop going . . . group. . . influence.  Not . . . family._

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, his mother’s, and Dave’s door rattled in the frame as his father stormed after her.

“I can’t ask him to hide himself, Paul; it’s not fair to him.”

“He can’t keep being an inappropriate influence on Maddie.  It’s hurting her.”

“And it would hurt our _son_ if we ask him to go back in the closet.”

Dave shoved his door open and joined his parents in the hall.  “Why don’t you actually talk _to_ me instead of around me like I’m not even here.  What the hell is going on?”

His mother sighed and slumped against the wall, waving her hand at Dave’s dad.  “You tell him, Paul.  Since it’s your idea.”

“Maddie told John and Arlene that she’s bisexual.”

“And?”

“You _knew?_ ”

“I knew.  What made you think I wouldn’t?  Maddie told me months ago.”

“And you didn’t think that was something her parents needed to know?”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Paul,” his mother said.  “It’s not Dave’s secret to tell.”

“John is, obviously, very upset.”

Dave clenched his hands into fists.  “And John isn’t Maddie’s _dad_ so why is it _his_ right to be upset?”

“Davey,” his mother pleaded.  “Can we just- just try to all be adults, here?”

“NO!  They sent Maddie away for the summer.  That’s not being adult, that’s being stupid and intolerant.”

“John wants Maddie to transfer to Ursuline Academy.  He thinks you’re a bad influence because of your group that you go to.  And he’s not thrilled with all of Maddie’s theater stuff, and her dance lessons.”

“And I’m supposed to do what? Stop being her friend and her cousin?”

“John said that he won’t keep the two of you from being friends as long as you stop going to your group and stop being so public about . . . what you are . . . around the rest of the family.”

“ _Who_ I am,” Dave said.  “I’m not a _thing_ , and I’m proud of who I am.  I’m proud to have a mother and grandparents who accept me and a school that supports me and a place to go where I can be myself.  I have it really good, you know?  I have friends who aren’t so lucky.  And  John is an asshole if he thinks that keeping Maddie away from me will make her any less queer.”

“That’s _enough_!” his father shouted.

“Or what?  What’re you gonna do?  Lock me in the house?  Ground me for no reason?  That’s rich, Dad.  I’ve never been in trouble in my entire life, and it never seemed like you cared one way or another about me being out.  It’s a little hypocritical to start having a problem with it now.”

“Do you even realize what kind of trouble this mess has caused for your mother with the rest of her family?”

“Seriously?  The family that didn’t talk to Mom for three years because she didn’t marry someone _Irish_?  Oh, that’s rich.”

“They’re your family, too.”

Dave looked over at his mother, who was still slumped against the wall like she’d been deflated.  He caught and held her gaze, and waited until she nodded slightly at him before continuing.  The words just kept coming, all the things he hated about the world and the stifling confines of South Boston.  “I don’t want them.  If they’re going to hate me, hate Maddie, for _who we are_ , then I don’t want them.  And I can’t just take it back, Dad.  I can’t go back into the closet, and I clearly can’t be the son you want.  Maybe I should just go back to Ohio.  At least there Grandma and Grandpa love me and I have friends I’m allowed to be myself around.”

Dave waited.  Silence hung heavy among all of them.  His mother was crying softly, his father’s face was red with rage in a way Dave had never seen before.  And Dave, he was shaking.

“Maybe that would be best,” his father said finally, backing down the stairs.  Dave pretended he couldn’t see his dad’s own hand shaking on the railing.

“Paul!” his mother called, but his father didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Dave said once his dad was gone.  “I didn’t mean it.”

“You never say things you don’t mean, my Davey.   _I_ just didn’t think he’d agree with you.”

“I love you.”  It was too little much much too late.

“I love you, too, Davey-boy.”  She hadn’t called him that since he was in elementary school, the day he flipped over the handlebars on his bike and knocked one of his front teeth out.  “Here, give me the things that need washing.  We have a lot to do, if your father gets his way about this.”

“You’re not going to fight Dad on this?”

His mother sighed.  “I’ve been fighting your father on this all summer, honey.  Nothing I’ve said or done has changed his mind.  I want you here with us, it’s where you belong, but I don’t want you to live a lie for _his_ benefit.  With any luck, this will all blow over once Maddie is home and you’ll be back here by Christmas.”

“Yeah, me too.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Fall 2009**

Dave joined the line of students snaking out of the office, his records from Latin and his entirely unacceptable McKinley class schedule clutched to his chest.  Finn waved to him and kept walking; Kurt had peeled off from them as soon as they walked into the building muttering something about avoiding the language hall.  Finn had offered to wait with Dave, but Dave didn’t really want company.  The transition was going to be hard enough without a shadow.

Two classes had already started and ended by the time the doe-eyed guidance counselor beckoned him with one perfectly manicured finger.  He followed her into an immaculate and well-organized office and took the seat she pointed to.  “David.  I’m Emma Pillsbury.” She didn’t take the hand he held out in greeting, instead actually backing away from him.  “You transferred here from . . . Binghamton?”

“Boston,” he corrected.  “I’m living with my grandparents.  I have a problem with my class schedule.”

“Really? Because we work hard to make sure students aren’t in classes that are too challenging for their skill level.”

Dave set his records on her desk and slid his schedule to her with one finger.  “These aren’t going to be challenging enough.  I’ve already taken Algebra II _and_ Geometry.  I’ve had three years of Latin and two of Chinese.  My last school consistently worked a grade level ahead in all the core subjects.  I’m going to be _bored_ in these classes because I’ve _already done them_.”

She opened the folder and scanned the contents quickly before turning to her computer.  “Let me see . . .” she clicked and typed for a handful of moments, making little _hmmm_ -ing sounds as she did.  “I don’t know what to tell you, David.  If you want to take Chinese III and pre-calculus, it makes taking honors English impossible.  You could take speech as an elective, I see you participated in forensics at your last school, and I suppose we could make an exception and let you fulfill your English requirement in summer school.”

“Nope.”  Dave shook his head.  “I do a theater program in the summers.  Summer school is non-negotiable.”

Her face brightened.  “Oh, theater!  I believe Mr. Ryerson is planning a wonderful show for the fall musical, and he can always use more talented young men to join.”

Dave made a face.  “No, thank you.  I’ve . . . um.  I’ve heard some things about Mr. Ryerson that make me think I won’t like his teaching style.”  Because he had at least learned a little bit about tact, and if she didn’t know the things Kurt had told him about _creepy Mr. Ryerson_ then _he_ certainly wasn’t going to say anything.

“Oh.”  She clicked and tapped a little more, and then finally moved her gaze from the computer and fixed him with a grin.  “Well.  Okay, David.  I think I have a solution for you.”  She turned the monitor around so he could see, and tapped each square with her pen.  “If we put you in Chinese III and pre-calculus, plus speech as your elective, then you can take Chemistry and College English.  It’s not the same as Honors, but it’s a higher level than the general course you were assigned.  I can talk with your teacher and set up an enrichment project, if you’d like.  Maybe there’s a way to parlay your interest in theater into a project, for instance.”

Dave shrugged.  “It’s not like there’s anything else you can do, right?  I mean, I can’t jump into Junior English, can I?  Or skip 10th grade altogether?”

She shook her head.  “I’m sorry, no.  English is the one class everyone has to take in sequence, and I don’t recall the district skipping _anyone_ a grade at all in the five years I’ve been working here.  So no, skipping 10 th grade really is impossible.  Though—” she broke off, busying herself with printing a new copy of his schedule.  “Well.  Never mind.  I don’t know what I was thinking, my brain ran off with me for a moment.  Here.” She shoved the paper at him and smiled.  “Have a good day, David, and please, let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.  My door is always open.  Metaphorically, of course.  It’s not _really_ always open but, well.  You know what I mean.”

The bell rang, and she nodded toward the hall.  “Third period.  The language hall is to your left.  Come see me if you have problems or questions.  Good luck!”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

It was a whirlwind of a day.  Finn was in his PE class, and Santana was in speech with him, but he only saw Kurt, Mike, and Puck in passing.  He sat alone at lunch, eating his sandwich and apple with _The Kite Runner_ for company.  Afternoon was Chemistry and English.  Dave was weighted down with books and exhaustion by the time he made it to his locker for the first time, and he set everything on the floor while he worked the combination on his lock.  It took three tries and a well-placed nudge with his shoulder to finally pop it open.  He was putting his books away when the hallway suddenly seemed smaller.  A crowd of guys in red letterman jackets sucked all the air and energy out of the space; Dave watched kids up and down the hall press themselves against lockers or slink into alcoves.  At the very end of the hall, the door to the boys’ room squealed open and closed.  The kid furthest from Dave reached out a meaty hand and shoved the person closest to him.  Dave startled at the sound of a body hitting metal, but the kid who did it just kept walking, high-fiving his friends and gloating about _taking down another loser_.

Once they were gone, around the corner toward the gym, people started moving, but not in a normal way; everything was hushed and hurried, like they were afraid of attracting any attention at all.  The whole thing made Dave’s stomach feel squirmy, but he didn’t know what to do about it.  He didn’t think Miss Pillsbury was an option; she seemed nice enough, but a lot disconnected from what it was like to be a student.

He meandered slowly down toward the exit where he was supposed to meet Kurt, but got waylaid by the large bulletin board outside the auditorium.  It was covered with fliers and activities sign-ups, and he needed to find _something_ to do, since he wasn’t about to do theater.  He skimmed notices from the botany club, something called Circle of Faith, and Yearbook.  He was actually reading the requirements for submitting a sample to the literary magazine when another hulking guy in a letter jacket approached him.  “You play defense or offense?” he asked.

“Huh?” Dave blinked at him, brain still back on how many pages of prose he needed to have in to the English department head by Friday.

The kid sized him up pretty blatantly in a way that made Dave more uncomfortable than any check-out he’d received at his last BAGLY event.  “O-line or D?”

Dave shook his head.

“Aw, man, what the hell?  You don’t look like one of them SPED kids.  Foot-ball,” he said offensively slowly, pointing to the patch on the front of his jacket.  “Do. You. Play?”

“No,” Dave said.  “I don’t play, and you’re a jerk and an idiot.”

“Nah, I was just kiddin’, sorry.  What’re you, a freshman?”

“Sophomore.  Transfer.”

The kid nodded like that made everything so much clearer.  “What _do_ you play?”

Dave thought carefully.  Clearly, if he admitted to acting things were going turn out badly for him.  “Hockey,” he said finally.  It wasn’t a total lie; he could still tear up the ice, and the two times he’d played a pickup game since quitting the team, his new size had been an unexpected asset.

The kid nodded at him and made an affirmative noise in his throat.  “Hockey.  You don’t look like no hockey player, you still got all your teeth.”

“I’m just lucky, I guess,” Dave said with a shrug.  If nothing else, he knew how to put on a decent act.

“Our hockey team is shit, man.  Football’s the place to be, here.  You should join.  Get you in with the right crowd, you’ll be set for the next three years.”

“I’m not- um.” He wanted to say that he wasn’t going to be at McKinley for three years, but that wasn’t a sure thing at all, and Latin only admitted upper school students in 9th grade, so he was pretty much screwed on that front, too.  He needed something to cover his hesitation, and grabbed at the first thought into his head.  “ I don’t know if my grandparents will let me play football.”

“But they’ll let you play _hockey_? Whatever.  If you change your mind, I’m Azimio.  My friends call me Z.”

“Dave.”

“Are you ready?” Kurt’s voice was stilted, unapologetic in his interruption.  “I thought you got lost.  I have to work at 4.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good here.”  Dave watched Azimio’s eyes narrow as he backed away, body taut and tension in his jaw.  He looked like he would burst if someone poked him too hard, and that unpredictability made Dave nervous.

“Remember, if you change your mind,” he said before turning the corner.

“Thanks.” Dave waved at him.

“Change your mind about what?”  Kurt held himself contained, arms crossed over his chest.  Dave wasn’t sure, but it looked like he’d changed shirts since the morning, and there was something weird about the way his hair was styled.

“Football.”

“You don’t play football.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.   _I_ know I don’t, but _he_ doesn’t.”

"That makes no sense at all."

Dave shrugged.  "I don't know what to tell you.  Something told me to play along."

Kurt finally relinquished the tiniest twitch of his mouth into something that could, if left unchecked, turn into a full-on grin.  "Have you ever played along with what anyone thought of you?"

"Me?" Dave drew back in mock horror.  "No, I'm just your standard all-American boy."

Kurt laughed full-on, then.  "Come on, all-American boy.  I might be the owner's son, but that still doesn't mean I can be late for work."

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

By Friday afternoon, Dave was on edge.  A week of trying to figure out the weirdness that was McKinley High left him exhausted, and after three years of having his best friend practically attached to his hip he was, suddenly, lonely beyond belief.  

He _had_ to find something to fill his time.

His second attempt at scouring the activities board was again interrupted by Azimio.

"New kid!" he called, holding out his fist for Dave to bump.  "Aren't you the saddest thing I've ever seen.  You don't look like the Superhero Club type.  What position did you play in hockey?"

“Defensemen.”

"So you can hit _and_ take a hit.  Half our offensive line has shitty grades, can't play till after first quarter.  Coach is desperate."  He lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Hudson said he saw him _crying_ the other day.  It's a sad thing, man.  You're comin' with me."

Dave hesitated for a moment.  His brain was screaming at him to turn around and walk away, but he remembered what hockey had been like, back before it turned into nothing but competition, when it was still pure and fun and the brotherhood of _team_ and _togetherness_.

His feet shuffled, paused, and then followed his yearning heart down the hall to the locker room.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

"Better!" Azimio said, offering Dave a hand up from the ground.

"You didn't tell me that football involved me on my ass a lot of the time."

"Better you than the QB.  C'mon, try again.  You can hit me harder this time."  He gestured to his body.  "I'm not gonna break, man."

"I might," Dave mumbled, more to himself, as he took the stance he'd learned the day before.  "Bruises on my bruises."

"Aw, don't be such a pansy."

Dave knew Azimio was teasing, had no way of knowing, but the words chilled him anyway.  His stomach twisted, but he followed through with the exercise, adding a little extra push even though he didn't need to.  Finally, it was his turn to stand over Azimio and offer _him_ a hand up from the ground.  "Now who's a pansy?" he asked.  

The ease with which the phrase fell from his lips shocked him, but at the same time he felt distant from it, like he was talking about someone else.  

"Alright.  One more time, and then we'll be done for the day."  Azimio took his position, and Dave his, and in the half-second before Azimio called _go_ movement at the edge of the yard caught Dave's eye.  He got one good look at Kurt's face, etched with surprise and hurt, in the moment before Azimio laid him out flat.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

_You forgot?  You_ forgot _? You really expect me to believe that, Dave?_

 _I'm sorry.  Coach said I needed to know the basics before he'll even look at me for the team, and Z offered to help,_ he sent, thumb swiping fast over his phone's keypad.  

_I can't even talk to you right now.  You're calling him Z like he's your best friend?  The asshole that’s been stealing my lunch and pushing me down stairs since we were in second grade?  Did he tell you he's the one who broke my elbow?_

_No._

_Why are you even joining the team?_

Dave sighed, even though Kurt couldn’t hear him.   _Because if I don’t do something I’m going to go crazy, since theater is out of the question and speech is only a class and not a team._

_Oh, poor Dave.  Not enough activities in little old Lima for the city boy._

Dave stared at his phone.   _Why are you being so awful?  It’s just football._

Kurt’s reply was minutes in coming.   _It’s never just football.  It’s the way that entire school is full of hate for anything different.  I thought you understood that.  And I never ever thought that you’d give into it._

Dave was so tired of typing; he just wanted to talk to Kurt.  He hit dial and listened while Kurt’s phone rang and rang, eventually clicking over to voicemail.  “Jesus, Kurt.  Why can’t we talk about this?  I’m not giving in to anything, I’m just trying to fit in here, a little bit.”

Two minutes later Dave’s phone buzzed again.   _You’re taking the easy way out._

_Easy?  You think it’s been easy leaving my family and coming out here?  Leaving my friends?_

_I thought I was your friend._

_Kurt.  Of course you’re my friend.  But I never see you, and I need to be more than just the weird new kid._

_I have to go._

Dave wanted to send _now who’s taking the easy way_ but decided that wouldn’t help anything.  He wanted to call Maddie and say _I’m sorry, I’ve fucked everything up_ , but apparently John was keeping her phone and monitoring her email.  

Instead, he typed and erased _I never should have come here, this was a big mistake_ three times before backing out of his messages and tossing his phone aside.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Kurt kept his distance for an entire week, leaving Dave to walk or ask his grandfather to drive him to school and bumming rides home from Azimio after practice.  Dave’s texts went unanswered, and Finn was cryptic when Dave pressed the matter during soccer drills in PE.   _I dunno, man.  He’s going through some stuff, my mom says.  He’s like that with me, too._

Friday afternoon, Dave left the locker room after practice to find Kurt waiting outside the gym.  “Want a ride?”

“Are we actually going to talk about shit?  Or are you just going to imply that I’m a coward again?”

“Fine.  You can walk home, then.  See you around, Dave.”

Dave jogged after Kurt.  “Wait!” he called.  “God, would you just _wait_.  I’m not the bad guy, Kurt.”

Kurt’s hand flexed and tightened around the strap of his messenger bag.  “Could have surprised me, with the company you’ve been keeping.  Finn likes everyone and _he_ hates Azimio.”

“I’m not his best friend or anything, I told you already.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”  He unlocked his car and waited.  

Dave hesitated.

“Are you getting in or not?  Come on.  I know a place.  It’s not like under your pier, but it’s better than either of our houses.”

Kurt drove in silence through the streets of town, and when they reached the outskirts of Lima he turned off down a worn dirt road.  Finally he pulled into a small dirt parking lot.  “The river’s just down that way.  In the summers people come out here for fishing and swimming and stuff, but this time of year it’s pretty deserted.  It’s a good quiet place.”

Dave listened for what Kurt didn’t say: _I like it here_ and _nobody will see you with me here_.

“I’m trying to understand,” Kurt said when they were sitting under a canopy of trees, listening to the rush of the river.  “Ever since I met you, you’ve been proud of who you are.  How can you lock that away?”

Dave poked at the ground with a stick.  “The same way you can.  You’re not out at school.”

“I don’t really need to be out at school.  Everyone suspects, anyway.”

“And nobody suspects about me.  Finn said they throw slushies at you?”

Kurt nodded, gaze set on a squirrel across the riverbank, frantically running around digging in the dirt.  “I feel sorry, for them, the squirrels.  Taking all that time to gather and bury their acorns and then they can’t remember where they left them come fall.  All that work for nothing.”

“I can’t live like that, Kurt.  I can’t let them do that to me.”

“But you can go back in the closet?  You’re making a stupid choice.  You’re making the _wrong_ choice.”

“Says you.  But just like coming out, it’s _my_ choice.  You can think what you want about me, but it’s my decision.”

Kurt leaned in a little closer, barely touching his shoulder to Dave’s.  “I think I’m a little jealous that you have a choice at all.  It seems like such a luxury, being able to pass.”

Dave wasn’t sure how to answer.  He supposed it would seem like that, to Kurt, but he had his own challenges.  “I constantly have to come out because I don’t read like I’m gay.  Sometimes I feel invisible.”

“It all sucks.”

“Yeah.”  Dave shifted, then, so that his knee was touching Kurt’s.  “I’m sorry I upset you.  I’m sorry any of this is happening.”

“I’m sorry your dad ended up being such a jerk.  Have you talked to Maddie since you got here?”

“Her stepdad won’t let her.”  Dave felt like the truce was uneasy, but it was a beginning.  Talking about Maddie hurt, but in a different way from fighting with Kurt.  He didn’t want to fight anymore, so he gave in and talked about Maddie.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

It went like that, back and forth, peace and rage shifting between him and Kurt like waves.  Sometimes they managed a week or two when they talked like adults, sharing theater news and summer plans; other times, it seemed like one or both of them ended every day in angry, hurtful words and tears.  The first Saturday in October, a day that had started with Kurt and Dave watching a movie in Kurt’s room and ended with them screaming at each other in the middle of the street, Burt Hummel waited until both boys were in their rooms and the neighborhood was quiet again before crossing the street with two cold beers in his hand.  He found Paul in the back yard, busily picking all the cherry tomatoes he could get off the plants.  

“They’re callin’ for a frost tonight,” he said, holding out a deep red tomato to Burt.  “We’ve got some ripe ones, but Lara wants them all off.  Wraps ‘em in newspaper to ripen in the house.  Last year we had so many, we were still having them in our salads at Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll have to tell Carole,” Burt said.

“But you didn’t come over here to talk to me about Lara’s tomatoes.”

“Nope.”

“Those boys of ours, they’re in a bad place.  But I don’t know what either of us can do to fix it.  It’s their business.”  He pushed himself up and took the beer Burt offered, heading over to the little metal table on the patio.

They both sat, and Burt took a long pull from his bottle.  “I agree with it being their business,” Burt said, trying to phrase things diplomatically.  He liked Paul and Lara both, and he thought they were doing a fine thing keeping David until things settled for him back home; it wasn’t all that unsimilar to what he and Carole were doing with Puckerman.  “The problem is, what am I supposed to do when their business starts to affect the rest of my family?  Kurt is a holy terror to live with right now, Paul.  Backtalking me, snapping at Carole.  Last week he and Finn got into a fistfight.   _Kurt_!  I don’t think he’s ever hit anyone in his life.”

“David doesn’t talk to us much, these last couple of weeks.  I don’t know what to tell you, Burt.”

“I’m sorry.  Maybe they’re just having one of those difficult times.  I remember being their age and hating everyone for a couple of months.”

Paul nodded knowingly.  “When Paul was young, everyone said boys were so much easier than girls, less emotional.”  He laughed and sipped his beer.  “I think they were all parents of girls.  It’s like, once they stop being little and able to cry, they keep all the hurt and sad inside and get angry instead.”

“So what do we do?”

Paul set his bottle on the table with a clatter.  “We wait it out.  We listen if they decide to talk, and we try to keep them from hurting each other too badly.”

Burt sighed.  “It might be too late for that.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave didn’t sleep.  Couldn’t sleep.  He just kept hearing himself yelling, and Kurt’s words like a million knives back to him, _closet case_ and _scared little boy_ , _I can’t believe I ever considered you my friend._

He’d lost control, not just of his words but who he was.  Every day he got up and went to school and listened to Z and the other guys from the team.  He followed their lead, and the Dave who’d gone to group and been proud to be different grew smaller and smaller.  New Dave could hardly see or hear the other him anymore, and every time he passed Kurt in the hall, laughing with his friends from the resurrected glee club he was reminded of what he’d lost.

 _No,_ he corrected himself, kicking his covers off as rage burned hot under his skin.   _Not what you lost, what you fucking walked away from.  Coward.  Kurt’s right, you’re nothing but a little boy who can’t stand up for himself._

Monday morning, gritty-eyed and irritable, Z met him outside with two plastic cups.  “Slushie,” he said, shoving one of the cups at Dave.  

“Oh, I don’t like grape.  Maybe you can give it to someone else.”  His stomach flipped over.   _Act like you don’t know about the slushies, like nobody told you a thing._

“Oh, we’re gonna give them to somebody else all right.”  Z bounced a little on the balls of his feet.  “But these aren’t for drinking.  Watch and learn, K, watch and learn.”

He followed Z through the crowded hall, stunned at the sudden power he had just because of the plastic cup in his hands.  

“Did you hear?  Quinn Fabray got knocked up and she still thinks she can walk around this school like she owns it.  We need to show her where she _really_ belongs.”

They ended up over near the trophy case.  Quinn was talking with Finn, and when they turned away from the display, Azimio flung his cup right into Finn’s face.  “Dude!” Z hissed.  “Do it!”

Dave couldn’t help it; he hesitated half a second at the look on Finn’s face, and then turned to Quinn.  He didn’t know her, only knew of her, but he didn’t want to do it.  The cup was suddenly leaden in his hand, and it felt like he was making the last choice he’d ever be allowed at McKinley.  Throw the slushie and be a king, walk around like he and Z and Z’s friends were big men, or walk away.  Walk away and be targeted for the same kind of treatment.  

“Dude, what’s your problem?   _Do it_!”  

The _no_ was right there, stuck to his tongue like a glob of peanut butter.  “I- I--” he stuttered.   _I can’t, I don’t want to_.  It would have been so easy.  

He blinked, felt tears creep out of his eyes.  He stared at Quinn, who stared right back, almost daring him.  She was proud, defiant, and Dave felt anything but.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, and threw the drink.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Numb.  Every day was numbness, sounds echoing and the whole world viewed through twisted glass. In class, he was fine.  He knew how to be a good student, how to please his teachers, sit in class, answer questions, do homework, pass tests.  Outside was where the problems began.

Every choice felt less and less like a choice and more like some invisible rope tugging him toward a future he never wanted, but he couldn’t make it stop.

The truth was, he didn’t _want_ to make it stop.  There was power in his new persona, power that made him almost high as often as it made him sick to his stomach.  he couldn’t think about the contradictions too much; the first time he followed Z’s lead and shoved a kid into some lockers, adrenaline pumped through his body and the ever present buzzing in in his brain of _you’re an idiot, what are you doing, what are you thinking_ was blissfully silent.  At home later, once the thrill had worn off and he could still see the kid’s fear in the moment before impact, could still feel the scratchy acrylic of a sweater sleeve and hear the muted thunk and sharp crash of a body hitting metal, that’s when he was sick.  

The guilt tried to eat him up, but he refused to let it.  He had to be stronger than something, and guilt was the easiest to manage.  

Bullying became an addiction, a burning _need_ in his hands and his body and his brain.  Every push, every word, every slushie, every sweaty grunting tackle on the field in practice or under the lights at games, all of it made his brain go quiet and his vision un-twist.

In the clear moments, he could let Kurt and his grandparents in.  Over Christmas vacation, with Azimio gone to St. Louis to see relatives for the whole two weeks, he was able to let his guard down just enough to enjoy being around people again.  He helped his grandmother bake cookies, and he joined Kurt, Finn, and Puck for caroling around the neighborhood.  Christmas night he approached the Hudson-Hummel house warily; he had a small gift for Kurt, and he contemplated just leaving it on the step, but then Carole opened the door and swept him inside.  

“David! Merry Christmas.  Your grandmother called to tell me you were coming over.  Would you like some egg nog?”

“No, thank you.”  He held out the slim wrapped package.  “This is for Kurt.  Can I leave it with you?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t know what’s been going on with you two, but I’m sure Kurt would love to see you.  He’s upstairs.  Go on up.”

Dave climbed the stairs and waited, gathering himself before knocking on Kurt’s door.  

“Come in!” he called.

Dave opened the door carefully.  “I come in peace,” he said.  “I also come bearing gifts.”

“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” Kurt mumbled, looking up from the book he was reading.

“Merry Christmas to you, too.  I’ll just leave this here.” He moved to set the package on Kurt’s dresser.

“Don’t be like that.  I’m sorry, it’s just been a really long day.  Too many relatives, too much noise.  Not enough - well.  Not enough people I really wanted to see.”

Dave stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.  “Do I fall into that category, of people you really wanted to see?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re going to stay and watch that with me.”

“How did you know it was a DVD?”

Kurt’s eyes sparkled.  “Gotcha!  I didn’t until you just told me.”

Dave groaned.

“Stop that.  Give it here.”  Dave handed it over and watched with rapt attention while Kurt pulled the silver and red paper off.  “Oh!” he said, his whole face lighting up.  “How did you- where?  It’s - I didn’t know they’d filmed it!”  He scooted aside, motioning for Dave to join him on the bed.  

“They didn’t.  Not officially.  It’s a high quality bootleg video of Lea Salonga’s last performance as Kim.”

“Oh my god.  This is _amazing_ , Dave.  Please stay and watch with me?”

“I should really get home.  I don’t- um.  I don’t want to presume that you want me here.”

“I don’t hate you, Dave.  I don’t understand the choices you’ve made, but I don’t hate you.”

“ _I_ hate me.”

“Oh.” A swift intake of breath.  Kurt got up and busied himself with his DVD player.  “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?  I’ve turned into this awful person.”

Kurt looked at him, and Dave felt the weight of it, all the things Kurt was thinking.  “You’re not awful.  Confused, maybe, and scared.  And that makes me sad for you, because you were one of the most authentic people I’d ever met and I hate that you feel like you need to hide that.”

Dave got to his feet.  “What good is authenticity if Maddie’s going to boarding school and my dad isn’t sure he wants me home, since I’ve _caused such a rift in the family_?  What good is being out, being gay at _all_ , if all it’s done is made people who are supposed to love me regardless act like I’m a terrible person for something that _isn’t my fucking fault_?”

“David.”

“Don’t.”  Dave backed up to the door, fumbled for the knob, and opened it.  “Please don’t.  Enjoy your movie, Kurt.  Don’t let me ruin your day.”

Dave pulled Kurt’s door closed behind him and ran down the stairs.  The living room was empty; he heard voices coming from the kitchen, but he let himself out without a word.  He crossed the street carefully, hyper-aware of the black ice left from melting snow.  A figure in dark sweats with an iPod in an armband and earbuds snaking up under the collar of a t-shirt was running toward him, breath coming hard in white clouds.  The person waved and Dave waved back.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Puck said, jogging to a stop next to him.

“You’re Jewish.”

“No shit.  And I live with a houseful of Christmas and Easter church people.  And I don't understand all that work and cooking and shit for a single day.”

Dave tapped a finger against the iPod.  “Hanukkah present?” he asked with a smirk.

“Christmas,” Puck replied.  “What’re you up to?”

Dave flicked his eyes back toward the Hudson-Hummel house.  "Just heading home."

"Uh huh.  You and Kurt had a fight again, didn't you?"

"It's sort of all we do anymore, isn't it?"

"I guess I don't understand any more than Kurt does, not about why you're friends with that asshole.  But I do understand one thing Kurt never will."

"What?"

"How it feels when your family abandons you."

"They didn't abandon me."  

"Uh huh.  Then why're you here instead of home with them?"

"It's better this way."

"For who?  Because you seem pretty miserable, and I heard you telling Kurt last week that you haven't talked to Maddie in months."

"Then I guess it's better for my dad.  He doesn't have to deal with a kid he doesn't like and doesn't understand."

"Your dad sounds like an asshole.  Mine was, too.  It happens."

Dave poked the toe of his sneaker into a pile of slushy snow.  "Kurt said you used to be really angry."

Puck shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.  "I used to be a lot of things.  I'm still not a great student, and I'm a dick to girls.  But I'm a little less angry.  Living with people who think I matter even though my family situation is fucked helps.  And hey, I got good news this week."  He pulled a tattered piece of pink paper out of his pocket.  "My sister made me this, and our Nana actually sent it.  So, progress.  It's a good thing, man."

"I don't know how to stop being angry."  

"Start letting shit go, man.  I mean, that's what my therapist tells me.  Or maybe if you stopped being so damn stubborn and let people see you instead of a little Azimio clone."  Puck shook his head.  "I can't make you hear me.  But you're hurting Kurt, and you look like you're hurting yourself too.  I gotta tell you, hurting yourself doesn't solve anything."

Dave walked backwards, suddenly feeling too closed in even though he was outside under clear black sky and sparkling stars.  "Thanks for nothing," he said, suddenly anxious to get inside.

"Give up the macho act, Karofsky.  You're not the only one in the world with problems.”

Dave waited until Puck had turned and was halfway up the walk at the Hudson-Hummel house before muttering _fuck you, too_ at his retreating form.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

The first day back after Christmas break, Dave found one of Miss P’s pamphlets stuck into the slats of his locker.   _I’m Angry and I Don’t Know Why_ , the cover read in cheerful bubble letters.  Except Dave kind of _did_ know why, and he hated that Kurt and Puck both knew, too.

 _I’m in charge of my own life_ , he thought, stalking down the hall.   _I get to make my own choices and I’m making them_.  

He could hear Maddie’s rebuttal in his head.  He pictured her, hands on her hips and head cocked just so, staring him down.   _I love you, Davey, but you’re an idiot.  Stop letting everyone else tell you what to do.  You think you’re lonely, but you’re more isolated now than before your met Azimio.  He’s a jackass, by the way, and you’re better than he is on every level._

Someone brushed past him and he reacted without thinking, a hand flung out and pushing a body away before the faint tang of familiar spicy-sweet cologne penetrated his stupid stubborn brain.  “Watch where you’re going, faggot,” he said, and he didn’t wait to see Kurt’s reaction.  He ran, slamming out the double doors retching and coughing into the frozen January afternoon.

The last tender thread snapped, and Dave was reborn, unrecognizable to everyone including himself.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Kurt loved the way his shoes beat a rhythm on the hallway floor.  After a week in them, he no longer worried about falling and breaking an ankle or his neck, and the extra height made him feel powerful.  Tina had told him that heels would change how he walked, and in the beginning he’d been tentative, but now he walked with pride.  He was almost to the choir room when Azimio and Karofsky caught him in the alcove near the stairs.   _Stupid_ , he thought to himself.   _Stupid.  You know better than to be alone in this part of the hall._

“What do we have here?” Azimio asked, circling Kurt like he was inspecting a piece of furniture.  “It looks like a fairy to me.”

Karofsky - Kurt couldn’t think of him as Dave anymore - snickered, and Kurt winced.  He sounded nothing like himself.   _He’s not himself, and why do you care?  He called you a faggot_.

“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a _fairy duck_!”  Karofsky  got up close in Kurt’s space, and his twisted face looked even more warped without any distance to it.  “What do you say, _duck_?”

Kurt drew in a breath and projected his voice as far as he could.  “I say fuck you, fuck the both of you.  And if you don’t back off, I’m going to take you both out with one of these heels.”

Karofsky hesitated a moment, but it was like Azimio gathered power from Kurt’s defiance.   _Well, shit_ , Kurt thought.   _I guess it’s a good thing I’m pretty decent with all kinds of weapons.  Thought I don’t think high heels were what Jordan was thinking when he told me to use what I had on hand if I ever got cornered like this._

“You think?” Azimio teased.  “Isn’t that cute, little fairy freak faggot thinks he can hurt us?”

“Fairy freak faggot,” Karofsky parroted.

“Scared little boys,” Kurt yelled, hoping someone would hear him.  He didn’t have many other tricks to hold them at bay, and he really didn’t want to get blood on his costume.  

“Leave him alone!” a voice called from behind them.  Azimio and Karofsky were startled enough to give Kurt space to escape, and he was surprised to see all of the club behind him, Finn leading the way in a bright red rubber dress and headpiece.  He was teetering in his shoes.  “Nobody puts my brother in a corner.”

“Aw, look.  All the queers are here.  We should have a party.”  Karofsky’s face went white at Azimio’s words.

“You’re outnumbered, assholes,” Finn said.  “You should get out of here before the _queers_ get angry.”  He turned to the club.  “Come on, guys, we’ve got a performance to kill.”  

Finn lingered a little behind the rest of them, but Kurt hung back just enough that he was able to hear Finn’s admonishment to Karofsky once Azimio had disappeared into the stairwell.   _I don’t know who you are anymore, man.  Do whatever you want with your own life, but leave Kurt alone.  He doesn’t deserve to have your hate for yourself tossed at him._

He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like Karofsky’s response was a cold and empty _fuck you, Hudson._

_[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA) _

**Summer 2009**

Football camp was nothing like Dave had expected.  Away from Azimio, who went to a lineman-only camp in Texas, Dave felt able to breathe for the first time in months.  The fog over his eyes cleared, and he was actually able to enjoy football for what it was: a game and a strategy and a test of both skill and endurance.

He was surprised to find, at the end of the second week, that he actually loved football.

He loved football, and he didn’t hate himself quite as much.

“You really didn’t play until this year?” one of the QBs - Dawson? Dalton? No, Dakin - said after full-team drills.

“Really.  I played hockey for like five years, though.  It’s not that different.”

Seth Outerbridge - _call me Otter_ \- laughed, tossing his towel over to the laundry bins.  “Except we play on grass, and a skate could take your eye out if you’re not careful.  And also ice.”

“True that,” Dave said with a nod, chucking his cleats into his gym bag.  “I like football better than hockey, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Otter said.  “I bet.  You get to keep your teeth in football.”

Dakin just laughed.  “You guys should be a comedy team or something.  Keep your teeth.  That’s funny.”

Otter waited until Dakin had gone, off with the other QBs to a dinner with one of the coaches.  “It wasn’t that funny.”

“No, but it was a little funny.”  Dave measured a quarter inch between his thumb and forefinger.  “Little.”

“Asshole.”

“That’s me,” Dave said with sadness tinged with pride.  “Everyone says so.  Karofsky’s an asshole.”

“You don’t have to be, you know.”

“I kind of do, though.”  He slammed his locker shut and shouldered his bag.

“Why?”

 _Don’t challenge me, please don’t make me be that guy, not here, not now._  Dave shrugged.  “Moving states and schools sophomore year.  I didn’t want to be a target.”  It was as good an answer as any.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like assholes, then.”  Otter dragged his eyes over Dave’s body and moved closer.  

Dave inched away until his back was pressed against the lockers.   _Don’t let him see me.  Don’t let him know my secret._ “Oh, yeah?”  He swallowed hard.

“Yeah.”

Dave smirked, feeling the surge of recklessness rise in him at not having to make a choice about whether to show himself; it didn’t matter, because Otter had seen him anyway.  “Do I have to dare you?” he said, suddenly cocky.

“Yeah.”  Otter licked his lips and got closer than anyone Dave had let near him in almost a year.  “Do it.”

“I. Dare. You.”  Dave barely got the last word out before Otter was on him, pushing their mouths together, knees and feet bumping hands awkward.

“Oh, shit,” Dave whispered.  It felt so good, _too_ good, having someone against him like that.

He pushed back, grabbing Otter’s face and kissing kissing kissing him like he needed it to breathe.  “Don’t stop,” he said.  “I need- I need to fucking feel _alive_.”

“Yeah?” Otter asked, backing away for a moment, breathing hard.  “My roommate’s at that QB dinner.”

“I haven’t- um.  It’s been a while.”   _Never, it’s been never_.  “I just need - _fuck_.”  Dave blinked, shocked to find tears in his eyes.  “I need to be not alone, just for a little while.”   _Vulnerability will get your ass kicked_ , he reminded himself, but once Otter took his hand and squeezed it, said _I have just the thing_ , he relaxed.

It wasn’t the release of getting off that Dave had been hoping for, but a pizza and two movies with lots of explosions was better than sitting alone in his room.  

“I’m sorry,” Otter said, closing his laptop once the second movie was over.  “I know what you were looking for, and I was too, but you sounded so lost, I didn’t want to hurt you.  And I don’t do sex as a substitute for feelings.  That kind of shit’ll get you into trouble, avoidance and whatever.”

“It’s okay,” Dave said, surprised that he really did mean it.  “We’ve got another week, though.  Maybe we can . . .”

“I’d like that.”  Otter smiled full and genuine, and Dave smiled back.

Otter wasn’t going to be the love of Dave’s life, but a little fun never hurt anything, and each time they hung out, whether they made out or not, Dave felt like the facade he’d constructed, brick by heavy brick, was cracking.  Barely, but now there were thin slivers of light where there had only been darkness.

When he got off the bus back home in Lima - and he shuddered to think of it that way, Lima as _home_ \- he felt new in his skin.  He had a plan, supplemented by long hours in the computer lab at camp.  Junior year was going to be so much better.

It was also going to be his last year in Ohio.

[ ](http://imgur.com/cV04ZRA)

**Fall 2009**

“I want to do this,” Dave said, setting a folder onto Miss P’s desk and dropping into one of her chairs.  “I have the grades.  I can’t stay here another year, and this program is designed for pre-college age kids.”

“I’ve never heard of this,” she said, flipping through the viewbook.  “They don’t require a high school diploma?  So it’s not the same as bypassing your senior year and using your first year of college to fulfill your senior requirements?”

“No diploma.  I would start college a year early.”   _Get out on my own and start my life a year early_.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”  Dave held his breath.  He _had_ to do it.  His fucking sanity depended on it.  “Please, Miss P.  Will you at least think about it?”

She nodded and fixed him with a smile.  “Of course, David.  I’ll do some research of my own, and I’ll let you know.  Come see me at the end of the week?”

**

“What’s got you in a good mood?” Azimio asked, falling into step with Dave as he left the office.  “You’re all bouncy and shit.”

“It’s a good day, I think.”

“It’s the first day of school.  Ain’t no way it’s a good day.”

“Says you."  

"You know what we need?"  Z elbowed Dave in the side.  "We need to make sure everyone remembers where they belong on the food chain up in here."

He must have still been riding the high from his summer, he thought later, after he'd spent homeroom puking in the boy's room; he didn't walk away, which had been his plan.  He didn't tell Z to stop.  Instead he went right along, and he didn't even blink when Kurt hit the lockers.

**

He didn't stalk Kurt Hummel.  It wasn't stalking because they passed each other in the hall a million times a day and at least once a week Dave managed to find Kurt alone in an alcove or a stairwell.  He didn't stalk Kurt.  He just went out of his way to walk by his locker twice a day, just to catch a whiff of his cologne or aftershave or whatever made him smell so fucking good.

He didn't stalk Kurt, and the not-stalking had nothing to do with the way he got sick after every shove, every hurled epithet, every attempt to just be close to someone who knew what it was like.

"Dude, what'd Hummel ever do to you?" Z asked him at practice one afternoon.  "You've seriously got it in for him.  You're kinda scary, man, you know that?"

"Shut up," Dave growled, and shoved his helmet onto his head.  

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Burt Hummel didn't bring beer the second time he crossed the street to talk to Paul Karofsky.  He brought Carole, and the two couples talked for four coffee-fueled hours about what to do now that things had clearly progressed beyond letting the boys work things out for themselves.

Nobody had answers.

"Kurt was afraid to go to school on Friday," Carole said softly.

Lara poured more coffee.  "David is worse on school days."

Paul set his hands flat on the table.  "I'll talk to him.  Give him a week to stop this bullshit, or I'll put him on a plane back to Boston."  He shook his head.  "I just don't understand.  He was such a good boy, happy.  And he and Kurt have been such good friends in the summers.  I don't know what happened."

Burt wanted to be patient, but he felt like they had all run out of time.  "Three days," he said.  "Do what you want with where Dave lives, but he gets three days to stop terrorizing Kurt or I'm calling the school."

Walking home, Carole slipped her hand into his.  "Do you think Kurt has three more days in him?"

Burt pulled her close, traded their hands together for an arm around her shoulders.  "I hope so."

**

Finn had Chemistry all the way across the building third period, and Santana, who was supposed to walk with him from Home Ec to French on her way to Spanish, had left the classroom talking about bringing Brittany the a cookie from the batch they'd baked, leaving him to brave the halls alone.

_It's just the rest of the tech hall and then three classrooms.  It'll be fine._

Kurt walked fast, head down, darting around people as best he could, shoulders hunched around himself in both protection and an attempt to shrink as small as possible.

He was almost there, one more bank of lockers to go, when he caught the flash of red a breath too late.  

His shoulder hit first, then his head.  He hit the ground in a sprawl and sat there, watching legs move past him, nobody noticing him.  Nobody caring.

Something boiled in his belly.  He was so _tired_ of everyone assuming he needed help, wanted protection.  He just wanted for it to stop, and the bitter reality of it all settled over him.  Nobody else was going to make Dave stop.  Nobody else had all the puzzle pieces.  

He got to his feet and saw Dave disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall.   _Boy's locker room_.  "What's your problem?" He yelled as he ran.  "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

He shoved the door open.  Dave was facing the lockers, hands clenched at his sides, body stiff and still with rage; Kurt could see it, in the rise of his shoulders and the way he was trembling.  "Leave me alone, Hummel."

"I've been leaving you alone.  We all have.  But I'm sick of it.  What the _hell_ is your problem?"

"You're always in my face, in my space.  You piss me off, that's my problem.  You and your fairy friends."  He spit the words like they were lemon rind.  "Get out of my face."

"I think you're scared.  Am I right?  Is that it?  You're just a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary he's become."

Dave punched the locker next to Kurt, and Kurt couldn't help it, he winced and drew back from Dave.  "Don't you push me, Kurt.  Don't you dare."

But Kurt couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to.  All the things that frustrated and confused him about Dave's choices and actions were spilling over into his words.  "I used to think that the worst offenders were scared of me because they were scared of their own sexualities.  But I think you're jealous.  Are you jealous, Dave?  Or are you so far away from who you are that you're not even queer anymore?"

He didn't see it coming, didn't see Dave move toward him, until he was there, trapping Kurt against the lockers with both arms braced next to his head, surging in and kissing Kurt, hard.  Not threatening, just desperate and sad and so so lost.

When he pulled away, Kurt could see his own confusion mirrored on Dave's face.  "I'm still gay," Dave said softly.  "And I'm so sorry, Kurt.  I'm so freaking sorry."

Like a dam crashing, Dave sunk to the floor, buried his head in his hands, and sobbed.  

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Emma Pillsbury was unboxing a new series of pamphlets when her office door creaked open.  Kurt Hummel, looking pale and scared, followed by David Karofsky, red-faced and shaking.  "Miss P?" Kurt asked, tentative.

"Hello, Kurt, David.  Is everything okay?"

"I-I-" David stammered.  He rubbed a hand across his face twice, rough like he was trying to scrub something clean, before getting the words out.  "I - _we_ , but mostly me - need help."

**_Youth Football Program Sees High Enrollment and Great Success, Robyn Robertson, Lima City News_ **

_For the first time this spring, Lima Parks and Recreation offered a flag football program for children ages 5-10.  Shannon Beiste, football coach and athletic director at William McKinley High School, started the program here after heading up a similar one in Mississippi for the last five years.  “It’s a great introduction to the fundamentals of the game,” Beiste said, elaborating that the non-tackle aspect of flag football “allows kids to learn and have fun, and lets their parents breathe a little easier.  No helmets, no hits.  That’s our motto here.  We play safe, and we eliminate the worry about early concussions.”_

_McKinley High junior David Karofsky gave up his Saturday mornings to coach alongside Beiste, who he played for on the Titans’ offensive line this year.  When I asked him what drew him to the help with program, he let his young charges answer for him.  “Tell Miss Robertson about football,” he urged them.  “What do we do?”_

_“Play hard, play fair, and leave it on the field!” they chorused._

_Karofsky laughed and then elaborated.  “Kids - all of us, really - we don’t learn how to manage anger or fear or disappointment.  But if we have a healthy outlet, a place to let our aggression out safely without negative consequences, it helps.”_

_Mr. Karofsky has plans to attend Early College at Simon’s Rock in Great Barrington, MA in the fall instead of completing his senior year at McKinley High._

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay for the whole summer?” Kurt sipped his lemonade, then trailed a French fry through ketchup.  “Finally getting to do _Cabaret_ isn’t a big enough draw for you?”

Dave shook his head.  “I can’t.  I mean, I could, but Austin and Miss P both think that I need to make an effort to reconcile with my dad.  Start college on a new page or something.”

“It is a good idea,” Kurt said.  “I just really wanted to do this show with you.”

“You’re going to be a great Emcee.”

“I know it’s kind of stereotyped casting, but I don’t fucking care.  It’s going to be amazing.  And you’re going to do what, exactly, besides reconcile with your dad?”

Dave shrugged.  “If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see Maddie.  We’ve been chatting online, now that she’s away at school too.  She’s doing a lot better.”

“I’d like to meet her someday.”

“I think she’d like that, too.”  Dave slurped the last of his milkshake and gathered up his trash and Kurt’s before bussing their tray.  “Where to next?”

“Grocery store.  I’m making potato salad, and Carole is making her famous macaroni salad.”

“You said it was going to be kids only.”

“It is.  But Carole’s macaroni salad is amazing.”

“Oh, okay.”  The hot and humid air was even more of a shock after the freezing interior of the Good Times.  “Can I ride with you tomorrow?”

Kurt smiled at him.  “Of course.”

Kurt turned the radio up.  “I love this song,” he said, belting out the lyrics.  

“P!nk is really gay, dude.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Kurt affected.  “ _We’re_ really gay.  Come on, you know you want to sing along.”

Dave shook his head, laughing.  But he did want to sing along, and he didn’t care who heard him.


	3. After

Dave bolted upright in bed, heart pounding and breath coming faster than it ever had when he’d played sports.  For a brief moment he blinked into the darkness and tried to orient himself.  But then he heard the very faint, tinny echo of music coming from Kyle’s headphones.

Right.

He wasn’t in the woods, he wasn’t by the creek, he wasn’t clutching his phone in trembling fingers yelling at the dispatcher to _hurry please, god there’s so much blood_.  It wasn’t summer.  He was in his dorm room in a snowy New York winter, it was Tuesday night, and he had Comp Sci at 8 am.

The only thing he didn’t know was whether the screams that had woken him had been his own or in his nightmare.

He never went back to sleep after the dreams; instead, he flicked the wheel on his iPod until he got to a new audiobook and let that permeate his brain.

By morning, the terror had dissipated.  It was never entirely gone, but most days he was able to keep the tendrils of fear tucked away deep inside himself.

Ohio was his past, nothing more than a memory.  He just had to keep going and everything would be okay.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Kyle didn’t come back after Christmas break.  Dave didn’t mind living alone, it just made it easier when he had a dream.  Not having to worry about waking someone else up with his screaming actually made things better.  By summer break, he had gone an entire month without a single dream.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Fourth of July.  Just another day.  He and his parents to watched the parade, and then they went to a cookout at his grandparents’ house.  But come dusk, when the neighborhood kids were shooting off illegal New Hampshire fireworks up and down the street, when Dave was hot and tired and too overwhelmed by people and noise, the dread was back.  It was a weight in his stomach, on his chest.  He could hear the kids in the street laughing, could smell the (stuff that makes fireworks boom) in the air.  His mouth tasted like ash.

And he jumped every time a loud one went off.

Nobody knew.  Nobody in Boston knew who he had been in Ohio, he had no reason to be acting like a traumatized child.  His breath started to go, and he raced inside, screen door clanging behind him.  He shut himself in the tiny half-bath off the kitchen, turned the water on high, and cried.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

“David?”

Dave tugged the sheet up over his head, groaning, in hopes that his dad would close the door and walk away.

“David, it’s past noon.  It’s time to get up.”

His eyes were gritty and dry from the sleeplessness that had finally disappeared right around dawn.  “Sick,” Dave whispered, scratchy-throated.  Maybe if he tried hard enough, he'd actually _get_ sick.

“Had a little too much holiday fun, huh?” His dad chuckled.  Dave squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the pounding in his head to subside just a little bit.

“Go ‘way,” Dave mumbled.  “Please, Dad.”

His dad sighed.  “Fine.  Your mother’s at work and I'm gonna watch the game, if you feel like joining me later.”

“Maybe,” Dave said, more to appease his father than from any desire to watch the game himself.  He just wanted to be left alone.

Once his dad was gone and the faint sounds of the pre-game were drifting up the stairs, Dave gave in and cried, his heart pounding to rhythm of the words in his dream.   _911, what is your emergency_?

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Dave was sitting on his front step, a can of Coke and a bag of chips beside him and a library paperback in his hands, when he was suddenly in shadow.

“You missed my graduation, asshole.” Dave looked up from his book, up and up and up past frayed denim shorts and a faded Latin Theater t-shirt to magenta hair and tortoiseshell glasses and a very battered-looking orange cast from fingertips to elbow.

“Hey, Mads.” He shoved aside his chips and soda and motioned for her to sit.

“You disappear to Ohio, all I get are halfhearted emails and three months of online chatting beofre you disappear to Simon’s Rock, I don't _actually_ see you for three years and all I get is _hey, Mads_?  You’re kind of a dick, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.  Mr. Dick.”

Maddie kicked him hard against his ankle.  “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Nothing was wrong because nothing happened.  Nothing had happened.  Dave hadn't done anything wrong.  He _hadn't._

“Liar.  Do your parents believe that when you tell them?  Or are all three of you oblivious?”

“Jeez, Maddie, hostile much?”

Maddie rolled her eyes at him.  “Jeez, Dave, _depressed_ much?”

“I'm not-”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m _not_ depressed.  What happened?” He motioned to her cast.

Maddie shrugged.  “Turns out I’m not fit for the circus.”

Dave looked at her, puzzled, and lifted his hands in an _I don’t understand_ gesture.

“At camp,” she explained like he was slow.  “This was my last year as a CIT and I _finally_ got into circus, only I took a spectacular fall off the trapeze the second day.  It turned out okay because the girl playing Sally Bowles in _Cabaret_ got kicked out for smoking pot with the counselors, and I was her understudy so.”  She fiddled with the cotton lining that was poking out near her fingers.  “A broken arm meant I got to leave camp in a blaze of theatrical glory.”  She stared at him, and Dave shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  “What about you?”

Dave shook his head.  He didn’t have the words to tell Maddie that he hadn’t done a show since summer theater before 10th grade.  “McKinley didn't have a theater program,” he said instead, and it wasn't really a lie because in the end theater had meant Glee Club and there was no way Dave could have done either of those, but he wasn't going to tell Maddie that either.

Maddie clucked her tongue at him.  “Excuses, excuses.”

“It's not an excuse,” Dave mumbled, rage simmering hot in his diaphragm.  “There wasn't theater.”  He didn't know why he was mad at Maddie, though.  She hadn't done anything to him.   _Sure_ , he thought to himself.   _She didn't do anything but live the life you both had planned.  It's not her fault things went to shit.  You did that, YOU._

He crumpled the chip bag and stood, walked over to the trash cans along the side of the house, and tossed it in.  “Where’re you going in the fall?  Berklee?  Boston Conservatory?”

Maddie shook her head.  “Nope.  You’ll never guess.”

“UMass?  We wouldn’t be so far apart if you come out to Amherst.”

“Nope.  Can you get it in three?”

“Not Harvard!” Dave recoiled in mock horror.  

“Close,” she said.  “Brown.”

“They have theater at Brown?”

“No.  I mean, yes, they do, but I’m not going to major in theater.  I want to be a theater teacher.”

“That’s great, Mads.  That’s really really good.”  He was proud of her and said so, but he didn’t understand why that pride also made him unexpectedly sad.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

He thought that getting back to school would make things better.  _God_ how he’d hoped things would get better.  He had a single, a full load of classes, friends.  He should have been better. 

It was never the big things that set him off.  Clanging pipes, backfiring cars, the night someone dropped a stack of clean trays in the dining hall. 

Thunder and lightning.

There was a lot of it, that fall.  Every thud and flash sent him further and further away, locked into a silent space where he couldn’t hear the screams or the soft wet smacking of hands and feet against unyielding flesh.

By mid-term, Dave couldn’t get out of bed.

The only place he felt safe was in his tiny room, and even then if the light came just right through the blinds he slipped further away.

His RA wanted to call his parents, but Dave convinced her that a weekend away would help more than anything, so he showered and got dressed and took the bus down to Maddie at Brown.

It snowed, the first one of the season, and he watched the flakes collect along the edges of the bus window.  He traced his name in the fog there, his and Maddie’s and Kurt’s and all the other people he’d hurt, abandoned. 

When he ran out of space, ran out of names, he just stared blankly at the passing towns.  He used to imagine what it was like living different places, what his life could have been like if he’d grown up, say, in Worchester as opposed to Southie, or Maine instead of Massachusetts.

He didn’t imagine anything anymore, unless he counted his longing for sweet release.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Maddie stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for her idiot best friend to get his ass off the bus.  He’d sounded like shit when he called late the night before, practically begging her to let him come visit for the weekend, but she wasn’t prepared for how rough he looked when he finally trudged down the snow-slick steps.

He’d been taller and bigger than her for so long, but when she wrapped her arms around him in a hard hug he felt fragile in a frightening way.

“Davey,” she whispered into his ear.  “Honey.  What the hell is going on with you?”

“I can’t breathe, Mads,” he said.  His voice was scratchy and raw-sounding.  “I’m drowning.”  He took a deep breath, and she could tell that something was hurting him; whether that thing was physical or emotional, well, he was going to have to tell her himself.

“Okay.  Let’s go get warm and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

“I need more than cocoa.  I need help.”

“Help with what?”  She thought, briefly, that it was probably a good thing she had her therapist on speed dial.

“Help forgetting.”

“Forgetting what?

“What they did.  What I _let them_ do.”


	4. July 4, 2011

“The water’s great!” Finn called up to where Dave and Kurt were sitting on a blanket, setting out lunch.  “You should come in.”

“Later,” Kurt called.  “I’m waiting for Mike and Tina.  They’ve got the inner tubes.”

“Uh huh.  Someone just doesn’t want to get his _perfect hair all wet_.”  Finn affected a falsetto.

“And someone’s being an asshole.  I’ll tell your _mommy_.”

“No, don’t!” Finn feigned distress.

Dave laughed.  “He may have two left feet but he’s as good an actor as we were,” he said to Kurt.

“Maybe, but he’s still an asshole.”

Dave reached into the cooler, submerging his hand in the icy water and then using it to mess up Kurt’s too-perfect-for-a-cookout hair.  “Dude.  You need to lose some of the gel.”

“ _Dude_.  You need to get your hand off my head before I stab you with a marshmallow stake.”  Kurt brandished the sharpened metal like a sword, and Dave yanked his hand back.

“Fine, I surrender.”  Except.  He waited for Kurt to put the stake down before attacking him again, first with a poke to the ribs and then with another vicious hand to his hair.

When Kurt finally managed to escape, breathless and rumpled and with a cold stare on his face, he pointed a finger at Dave.  “You’ll get yours, Karofsky.  Just when you least expect it, I’ll get _you_ and it won’t be pretty.”

Dave held his hands up in mock surrender.  “Oh, I’m so scared,” he teased.

Kurt laughed, then, and Dave couldn’t help laughing along.  It felt good to be back on Kurt’s good side.  He’d missed their friendship.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

Tina and Mike brought inner tubes _and_ a giant cooler, and not five minutes after Kurt jumped into the water Santana and Brittany came over the hill, Puck trailing behind hauling a bunch of fishing poles. 

“Puckerman thinks we’re gonna catch fish.  I’m not touching any of it, not fish, not worms, just _no_.”  Santana shuddered at the thought. 

“Oooh, Puck, hand one of those over!”  Tina raced over to meet him, taking two poles and the plastic bucket.  “Did you bring bait or do I have to dig my own?”

Puck dropped the poles and slung an arm over Tina’s shoulders.  “She’s a keeper, Mike, if she likes to fish.  See, ‘Tana?  _That_ ’show you’re supposed to react to the prospect of fresh caught fish.”

“Bite me!”  Santana flipped him off.

“No thanks,” Puck retorted.  “Not my type.”

Finn wrapped a wet arm across Puck’s chest from behind and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.  “Nah.  And if I had to fight you for him, Santana, I think I’d win.”

“That ship sailed years ago for all of us,” Santana said.  “Who’d’ve imagined.  Poor Schue and his queerer than queer glee club.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tina said.  “Right, Mike?”

Dave only saw it because he was looking, the way Mike flushed just a little and stammered his reply.  “Uh, sure.”

Santana caught Dave’s eye.  “Oooooh,” she teased.  “Chang’s got a secret!”

“No, no I don’t.  Come on, T.  Let’s go swimming.”

Santana laughed so hard her whole body shook.  “You’re not getting away that easy!  I have beer, and we’re just about ready for a good game of Never Have I Ever.”

Finn headed back to the river, and Puck dropped onto the blanket next to Dave.  “You doing okay, man?  You leave when, Thursday?”

“Yeah.  I guess I’m okay.  It’s going to be weird, going back there.  I’m not the same as I was when I left.”

Puck snorted.  “Understatement of the year.  You’re not even the same as you were at Christmas.”

“Neither are you,” Dave said, gesturing toward the river where it sounded like Finn and Kurt were challenging Mike and Tina to a game of Chicken.  “That’s all good, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Puck grinned, a bashful and proud at the same time.  “It’s always been there, him and me.  It just took me a long time to stop being so angry about it.”

“I hear that.”

“But you never were angry, before.”

“No, I wasn’t.  But things change.  _We_ change.  That’s why I’m going back to Boston.”  He couldn’t bear to call it home anymore.  “My dad and I haven’t really talked since the day I left. “  He tested the newest news from home in his head before telling Puck what he hadn’t even told Kurt yet.  “My mom left him just after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It’s good for her, to be on her own a little bit.  They’re probably going to work it out.  She’s making him go to counseling.”

“Hey, you and I both came out okay with a little help, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Dave rose to his feet.  “Come on, let’s go.  Wanna team up?  I used to be really good at Chicken.”

“Dude, you know it.  The Brothers H have it coming to them!”

[ ](http://imgur.com/8okRXMv)

After they’d cooked dinner, Dave built a fire in the fire ring and Tina set the s’mores fixings out on the picnic table.  Puck played his guitar while they talked and snacked and enjoyed being together.

 _Friends_.  _More than one friend.  It’s good, being happy,_ Dave thought. 

Puck plucked out a familiar melody, and when nobody else joined in to sing, Dave did.  _When the summertime has come and the trees are sweetly blooming._

Tina startled, and then added her voice to their chorus.  _And the wild mountain thyme grows around the purple heather, will you go?  Lassie will you go?_

Sometimes there were those moments when everything felt perfect.  Dave hadn’t had many of them in his life, but singing with Puck and Tina felt like one.  His head was clear, he was happy. 

He was _free_.

And then screeching tires and blinding light, Tina screaming and Brittany crying.  Someone – Dave himself, maybe – yelling _run, run_ , his hands pushing away, trying to protect his friends.  Kurt’s footsteps, uneven over roots and  grass and dirt, a muffled thump, and Dave tried.  He ran, too, but he was too late.   In the faint shadow of headlights, under the same canopy of trees where Kurt liked to go for peace and solitude, Azimio was standing over him, baseball bat held high.

“NO!” Dave screamed, and it echoed all around him.  “No, don’t!”

“Fucking queers,” Azimio said, kicking once and dropping the bat.  “Prance around acting like you’re the most special fucking snowflakes in the world, getting everything you want and _I_ get cut from the team?”

Dave shoved past him, kneeling next to Kurt.  He was curled up, clutching his ribs, and he had a bloody gash over his left ear.  But he was conscious, and that was all that matters.  Dave rose and faced Azimio eye to eye.  “Is that why you did this?  You got cut from the team?”

Azimio snarled at him.  “That fucking dyke bitch Beiste told me I didn’t have the character she was looking for on her team.  _Her_ team _._ Football was my ticket out, man.  I was gonna _go_ someplace, and this fucking fag took it from me.”  He spit in the dirt at Kurt’s feet.  “Fuck.”

“And _this_ fucking fag is gonna make sure you pay for this.”  Dave hauled off and landed one good punch – _the only one you’ll ever need_ , he’d learned as a kid – right between Azimio’s eyes. 

Azimio dropped to the ground and Dave fished in his pocket for his cell phone.

_911, what is your emergency?_

“Oh my god.  Send someone.  Please.  Lots of someones.  We’re at the river and a bunch of guys attacked us.”

“I’m sending EMS now,” the dispatcher said. 

“Police, too.  Send police, too.  Z did it.  Z did it because we're gay.”

**Hate Crime Stuns Ohio Town, Toni Wilson, Chicago Tribune**

_As fireworks bloomed in the sky on the outskirts of Lima, Ohio, the county seat of Allen Coun,  on the Fourth of July, a group of teenagers enjoying a day of swimming and tubing were brutally attacked by several of their classmates from William McKinley High School.  The victims and perpetrators are all underage, so their names are being withheld to maintain privacy.  A witness reported to police that the attackers used racial and homophobic slurs while kicking and hitting the victims.  Four students were treated for minor injuries and released from the hospital that night, and one remains hospitalized with several broken bones, but is reported to be in stable condition and is expected to be released within the next week.  One of the attackers was also injured; he was kept in the hospital overnight for observation and released into police custody on July 5 th. The perpetrators are being held at the Allen County Juvenile Detention Center and will be arraigned in family court on Monday.  A decision has yet to be made regarding trying them as adults._

_Friends of the victims were eager to talk with reporters, telling them that “they’re good kids, and none of them deserved this.”  Adele Bishop, spokeswoman for Lima City Schools, maintained that “allegations of continued bullying at McKinley High and other city schools are unfounded,” adding that “the district doesn’t keep track of those statistics,” only the numbers of suspensions for violence.  She reported that, in fact, one of the victims was suspended earlier in the year for violence.  However, several McKinley teachers witnessed a number of incidents over the years.  Spanish teacher and Glee Club coach William Schuester described times when crowds of athletes threw slushies on his students, and football coach Shannon Beiste maintains a zero tolerance policy for poor behavior.  “We’re a team out on the field,” Beiste said.  “We have to be able to trust each other and work together, and there’s no room for violence and hate on my team.  That boy, the ringleader?  I kicked him off the team, once I found out how he treated some of the other kids in school”.  McKinley guidance counselor Emma Pillsbury said that she tries to keep up with all the students who exhibit behavior problems at school, but insisted that it’s an impossible task because “the victims of bullying are often afraid to come forward, and I can’t help if I don’t know what’s happening.”_

_Despite faculty and administration insistence that bullying and in-school violence aren’t a major concern, McKinley students recounted that it was much more severe.  “Everyone knew,” said Santana Lopez, 17, a friend of the victims who was present at the attack but was uninjured.  “This has been going on for years, and everyone saw.  But nobody did anything.”  Quinn Fabray, also 17, lamented the lack of any kind of support from faculty.  “I was pregnant last year, and everybody knew but nobody offered me help.  I had to navigate adoption by myself, and when my parents kicked me out of the house my friends stepped up and we figured it out together.  But the teachers, they’re supposed to care about us.  In loco parentis, right?”  One of the victims, Noah Puckerman, asked to comment for this story, and did so in a rage.  “We all told them, but it never got better.  They say they care, but it’s all lies.  Nobody cares about the losers or the kids who are different, or the ones who don’t have families to support them.  There are too many of us out here; if we need help we have to find it ourselves, and that’s hard to do.  Teachers are supposed to be there for us, they’re supposed to protect us.  But they knew, they’ve known for years, and nobody cared.  Nobody ever cares.  They could have stopped this.  It didn’t have to be like this.”_


	5. Epilogue

Kurt’s hands shook around his cup as he drank.  He was pale, and there were dark gray circles under his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said, setting his cup back down on the table.  “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“No.  _I’m_ sorry.  I still feel like it’s my fault.  If I hadn’t- if I’d never even talked to him that day, none of this ever would have happened.”

“David.” Kurt reached across the table and set his hand on Dave’s wrist.  “It wasn’t, and never has been, your fault.”

“Jesus Christ, Kurt, I tormented you for over a year.  I fucking _stalked_ you because I couldn’t stand who _I’d_ become.  Of course it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t come back for the trial.  It was pretty cathartic, actually.”  His mouth twitched into a tiny smile.  “You would have been proud.”

“What happened?”

“I might have tried to attack him with my crutches.  Finn and Puck had to restrain me.  And you know what?”

“What?”

“The asshole saw me coming and he actually looked scared!”

Dave fiddled with his napkin.  “You seem like you’re doing okay.”

“As okay as I can be.  Changed plans and new directions and all.”

“Tell me about that.”

Kurt frowned.  “You sound like my therapist.”

“Says the man taking Intro to Psych.”

“Not much to tell.  I lost too much school.  Be glad you’ve never had a concussion, they’re brutal.  My ankle didn’t heal right, so I had to have a second surgery.  Couldn’t use crutches until my ribs healed.  It was pretty awful, actually.”

“No more theater.”

Kurt shrugged.  “I could still act, if I wanted to.  But I had a lot of help.  We all did.  I decided I wanted to do something bigger than being on stage.”

“So Psychology?”

“Yup.  You?”

Dave laughed.  “Social Work.”

“Look at us, being all mentally healthy and all.”  Kurt twisted a plastic coffee stirrer around his finger, suddenly serious.  “I still get nightmares,” he admitted.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“It’s hard.  I’m embarrassed by them, and the flashbacks.  It’s lonely, not having anyone who understands.”

“Yeah.”  Dave stared at the dregs of the coffee in the bottom of his cup.  “You know, that night was one of my happiest.  I really hate him for taking that from us.”

“The trial helped, for me.  But you still haven’t been able to let that part of things go.”

“Because it’s my fault!”

“No, David.  That’s why the trial helped.  It wasn’t your fault, or mine.  Azimio was just too angry, too alone, just like all of us.  But we had people who cared and he didn’t.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”  Kurt rose, and Dave had to look carefully to see the way he hesitated briefly before putting weight on his ankle.  “Come here.”  He opened his arms.  “I’m not so good with people touching me, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

Dave went, willingly, into Kurt’s arms.  They hugged long and hard, and when they pulled apart they were both crying.  “I thought this was going to be hard,” Kurt admitted, gathering his bag and coat and his dishes for bussing.  “I thought yesterday that I was still going to have this hatred for you.  Not for anything you did or didn’t do, just that you got to move on and keep your plans, and all of mine exploded.  But I think I needed this, you know?”

“Yeah.”  It was like being back with Maddie, easy.  “I think I did, too.  I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Dave hefted his own backpack up onto his shoulders.  “I’ve gotta get going.  But hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Same time, same place, next week?  Make this a regular thing?”

Kurt smiled full on, genuine.  “Yeah.  I’d like that.”

Dave hummed to himself as he walked, a little lightness in his step _and_ his heart.  Not everything was fixed, and maybe it never would be, but it was a better beginning - and more of a second, third, fourth chance - than he deserved.


End file.
